#dark Elladan

[earthlybeam]

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Hello. It's great.🥰💕 Is it possible for you to add more elves or characters to this request? (For example, other elves you wrote)

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Legolas, Elrohir, Elladan, Erestor, celeborn Versions are below. At the bottom of this post, I’ll leave link to of the last one featuring Mirkwood elves Feren, Meludir, Galion elros.

🍃𝓛𝓮𝓰𝓸𝓵𝓪𝓼

Yandere/Dark Elf Legolas x Female Fairy Reader Headcanons

𖧧 Legolas, with his keen elven senses and deep emotional connection to the world, would find himself utterly captivated by the presence of the fairy reader. To him, you’re not just beautiful—you’re ethereal, a creature of magic that even the most ancient songs of the elves could not capture. His obsession begins quietly, admiring you from afar, but it quickly becomes all-encompassing. Every moment he spends away from you is an eternity, and every word you speak to someone else stirs a jealousy in him that he cannot suppress.

𖧧 Legolas believes the world is far too dangerous for someone as delicate and magical as you. The shadows of Middle-earth, the wars, the greed of men—all of it threatens to tarnish the beauty of your existence. He uses this reasoning to keep you close, never allowing you to stray far from his sight. His words are sweet but laced with unyielding control “The world outside does not deserve your light, meleth nîn. Only I can ensure you are safe.”

𖧧 Isolation as a Form of Love He would gradually isolate you, not out of malice but because he truly believes he is the only one capable of understanding and appreciating you. He would take you deep into the heart of Mirkwood or another secluded haven, creating a sanctuary just for you. Every aspect of your surroundings would be tailored to your liking, but you would find yourself entirely dependent on him.

𖧧 Legolas’s control over you wouldn’t always be overt. He would gently guide your choices, framing his manipulation as concern. If you expressed a desire to explore the wider world, his face would fall, his voice soft and pleading “Do not leave me, my star. The world out there is cruel, and I cannot bear to lose you to it.”

𖧧 Fierce Jealousy if Anyone who dares approach you would feel the weight of Legolas’s jealousy. His calm, composed demeanor would shift into something darker when he feels his claim on you is threatened. His sharp eyes would narrow, and his words would become cold and cutting “You waste your time with others who cannot even begin to understand you. Return to me, where you belong.”

𖧧 Darker Displays of Affection In private, Legolas’s affection would border on suffocating. He would cradle you in his arms, his voice filled with a desperate intensity “You are mine, forever. No one else will ever love you as I do.” He would press fervent kisses to your face and neck, his grip on you firm, as if afraid you might vanish from his grasp.

𖧧 Legolas is deeply skilled at balancing his dark possessiveness with moments of overwhelming tenderness. He would bring you gifts—delicate flowers, shimmering stones, and other treasures he collects during his travels. He would present them to you with soft smiles, but his words would carry an undertone of need “I found this for you, meleth nîn. Do you see how I think of you always?”

𖧧 The Obsession with Your Magic As a fairy, your connection to nature and magic would fascinate and enthrall him. He would often sit silently, watching you with an intensity that borders on unsettling. If you use your magic, he would be in awe, but also possessive, feeling as though your abilities were something he must protect—something no one else should witness.

𖧧 Physical Possession as Legolas’s need to have you close manifests in physical ways. He insists on holding your hand whenever you walk together, his grip unyielding. He loves to touch your hair, often braiding it with flowers he’s picked, whispering how your beauty humbles him. However, his touch can sometimes feel almost desperate, as though he fears losing you if he lets go.

𖧧 Violent Tendencies Toward Threats Should anyone threaten or attempt to harm you, Legolas would shed all pretense of calm. His skill as a warrior would transform into something terrifying. He would eliminate the threat without hesitation, his piercing gaze and unrelenting precision a clear warning to anyone who might think of crossing him again.

𖧧 Emotional Manipulation If you ever challenge his possessiveness or express a desire for more freedom, Legolas would turn to emotional manipulation. His voice would break, his eyes filled with sorrow “Do you not see how deeply I love you? Everything I do is for you. Without you, I am nothing.”

𖧧 Legolas’s dark love for you is a mix of genuine adoration and an overpowering need for control. He cannot fathom a life without you, and his every action reflects this. Whether through tender gestures, whispered promises, or unyielding possession, he is determined to keep you by his side, no matter the cost.

𖧧 Legolas would often speak of eternity, of how your souls are entwined and meant to be together forever. He would promise you that even after the world changes, even after the time of the elves has passed, his love for you would endure “You are my everything, meleth nîn. The stars will fade, the forests will wither, but my love for you will never die.” In his dark, yandere state, Legolas’s love is a consuming fire—intense, unwavering, and terrifying in its depth. Yet beneath the darkness, there remains a glimmer of the elf who simply wants to cherish and protect the one he loves most in the world.

𖧧 Legolas would be endlessly fascinated by your fairy wings, treating them as sacred and beautiful. He would spend hours marveling at their colors, texture, and delicate movement. He insists on helping you groom them, using the excuse that they are too precious to be left unattended. His touch is both reverent and possessive, his fingers lingering a little too long as he smooths out the edges or untangles strands caught in your feathers.

𖧧 While he is gentle with your wings, there’s a darker undertone to his care. He sees them as a symbol of your freedom, something he desires to bind to himself. He would often whisper, “These wings are too perfect for the cruel world—they should carry you only to me.”

𖧧 Legolas will often wrap his arms around you from behind, pulling your wings flush against his chest as if claiming them. His fingers would trace the base of your wings where they meet your back, a possessive gesture that sends shivers down your spine.

𖧧 In public, Legolas would be subtly protective but in private, his need for physical closeness becomes overwhelming. He always ensures he is touching you in some way—whether it’s holding your hand, brushing his thumb over your knuckles, or resting his forehead against your shoulder while his arms cage you in.

𖧧 His kisses are deep and all-consuming. They leave no room for doubt about his feelings. His lips would trail from your mouth to your neck, always hovering near the curve of your shoulders where your wings start. He sees this area as uniquely yours and uniquely his to adore.

𖧧 If you’re seated together, he’ll pull you onto his lap, his arms wrapped around your waist, holding you close. If you protest or try to move, his grip tightens slightly. He murmurs, “I cannot let you go. Not now, not ever.”

𖧧 Legolas would weave delicate, intricate braids into your hair, often incorporating small feathers or leaves he finds in the forest, symbolizing his bond with you. These tokens of nature are his way of marking you as his.

𖧧 He insists on sleeping beside you, his body curled protectively around yours. His hand often rests on your wing or the small of your back, a silent reminder of his claim. He sleeps lightly, waking instantly if you shift or try to leave his side.

𖧧 Legolas is highly territorial. He reacts coldly to anyone who even glances at you too long. If another elf expresses admiration for your wings or your beauty, Legolas’s dark side flares. While his exterior remains calm, there’s a burning intensity in his gaze, and he ensures the offending elf is kept far from you.

𖧧 Legolas crafts a special space for you within the forests of Mirkwood, a sanctuary that only he can enter. While it’s beautiful and serene, it’s also a gilded cage. He insists it’s for your safety, whispering, “The world outside is cruel. Here, you’re protected… here, you’re mine.”

𖧧 He carefully watches your every movement, memorizing your habits and preferences. He uses this knowledge to anticipate your needs, always offering what you want before you ask. This might seem sweet at first, but over time, it becomes clear that he’s keeping meticulous control over every aspect of your life.

𖧧 He dislikes it when you interact with others, even your fellow fairies. If you must spend time away from him, he lingers nearby, watching from the shadow , ensuring no one gets too close.

𖧧 Legolas uses physical affection as both comfort and a reminder of his dominance. When you seem restless or distant, he pulls you into his embrace, holding you so tightly it’s almost suffocating. He murmurs sweet nothings in Sindarin, his voice low and soothing, “You belong with me, meleth nîn.”

𖧧 His love for your wings leads him to kiss them often, a possessive act that feels intimate and intense. He trails his lips along their edges, whispering how perfect and ethereal you are, his voice carrying a dangerous edge.

𖧧 If you ever try to resist his advances or question his possessiveness, he becomes eerily calm. His voice softens, but his words carry a quiet menace: “You don’t understand, do you? I’m the only one who can truly protect you. The only one who loves you as you deserve.”

𖧧 Legolas sees you as fragile and delicate, despite your own strength. He insists on accompanying you everywhere, even if it’s just a short walk in the woods. He keeps his bow and quiver ready at all times, his keen eyes scanning the surroundings for any potential threats.

𖧧 If you ever get hurt, no matter how minor, he becomes frantic. His hands shake as he tends to your wounds, his voice breaking as he whispers, “This world is too cruel for someone like you. I won’t let it harm you again.”

𖧧 Over time, his protectiveness becomes suffocating. He starts discouraging you from flying too far, insisting it’s dangerous. He grounds you in more ways than one, using his love as both a shield and a cage.

𖧧 Legolas constantly reminds you that his love for you is eternal. He sees your bond as something that transcends time and space. “We are bound, you and I,” he says, his voice filled with both tenderness and a chilling certainty. “Not even death could part us.”

𖧧 His gestures of love are both beautiful and overwhelming. He carves intricate wooden sculptures of your wings, sings hauntingly beautiful songs about your bond, and writes poems about your beauty. Yet all these acts carry an undertone of obsession—his love is a flame that consumes everything in its path.

𖧧 To Legolas, you are not just a companion or lover. You are his muse, his obsession, and the center of his world. And he will do whatever it takes to keep you by his side, even if it means clipping your wings to ensure you never leave him.

ꕤ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ꕤ · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ ၄၃ ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · ꕤ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ꕤ

⭐️𝓔𝓵𝓻𝓸𝓱𝓲𝓻

Yandere/Dark Elf elrohir x Female Fairy Reader Headcanons

✧ Elrohir’s fascination with you would begin innocently—his admiration for your ethereal beauty and magical presence would seem pure. However, this admiration would quickly turn obsessive. His deep love and admiration for your fairy-like grace would warp into an insatiable need to possess every aspect of you. Your laughter, your scent, the light in your eyes—all of it would become things he craves, things he believes should belong to him alone.

✧ Unyielding Protection As a dark version of himself, Elrohir’s protective nature would grow extreme. Any threat to you—real or imagined—would spark an immediate and merciless reaction. He would eliminate any potential danger with cold precision, ensuring no harm could ever reach you. To him, even his brother Elladan might seem like a rival or a threat, and his protective instincts would drive him to isolate you from everyone, including family.

✧ Elrohir would see the world as too dangerous for you, your delicate fairy nature too precious and fragile to be exposed to its harshness. He would insist on keeping you close at all times, often in places he deems “safe.” Whether it’s a hidden sanctuary deep in Rivendell or a secluded glade in the woods, these places would become your gilded cage, crafted by him to keep you away from anything he fears might hurt—or take—you away.

✧ Subtle Control Though his love is obsessive, Elrohir would initially cloak his control in kindness. He would subtly manipulate your choices, making you believe that staying close to him is what you truly want. But as his dark tendencies grow stronger, he would begin to exert more overt control, dictating what you wear, where you go, and who you see. He would justify this as “ensuring your happiness” or “protecting your freedom,” while in reality, he’s ensuring no one else can influence you but him.

✧ Elrohir’s jealousy would be as cold and sharp as a blade. If anyone even looked at you with admiration, he would see it as an affront to his claim on you. He wouldn’t lash out openly but would ensure the offender disappears—either banished from his presence or worse. To him, no one else has the right to so much as dream of you.

✧ Elrohir’s love would manifest in overwhelming gestures. He’d shower you with gifts—rare jewels, enchanted items, or delicately crafted things that reflect his adoration for you. But every gift would come with a possessive undertone, a reminder that these treasures are from him, and they symbolize your bond. He’d often remind you that no one else could offer you the love and devotion he does.

✧ Intense Physical Affection His physical affection would be intense and all-encompassing. He’d hold you tightly, almost as if he feared you might vanish if he loosened his grip. His kisses would be deep and consuming, laced with an almost desperate need to reaffirm his claim on you. These moments might feel romantic at first, but they’d quickly take on a suffocating edge, revealing his need to dominate every part of your heart and soul.

✧ Elrohir’s confessions of love would be both poetic and chilling. He’d speak of how you are the light in his otherwise dark world, the one being who gives him purpose. But there would be an undertone of obsession in his words, a belief that you are his alone. He might whisper things like, “You are my starlight, my sanctuary. Without you, I am nothing—and without me, you are lost.”

✧ Consequence of Defiance If you ever tried to resist his control or leave him, Elrohir’s dark side would fully emerge. His normally soft and composed demeanor would vanish, replaced by cold fury and unrelenting determination. He would make it clear that escape is not an option. “You belong to me,” he would say, his voice low and unyielding. “You cannot run from me, for I would find you no matter where you go.”

✧ The Line Between Love and Possession In his heart, Elrohir would truly believe that everything he does is for your sake. He would see his obsessive control and suffocating love as the ultimate expression of devotion. To him, your bond transcends choice or consent—it is fate, unbreakable and eternal. Even as his actions grow darker, he would justify them in the name of love, believing that no one else could ever love or protect you as he does.

✧ Private Intensity Behind closed doors, Elrohir’s affection would be overwhelming. He would pour all of his emotions into your shared moments, whether through whispered words of devotion or intense, consuming embraces. He would cherish every second with you, but his adoration would carry an edge of possessiveness that makes his love feel more like a binding vow than a gift.

✧ A Dangerous Protector While Elrohir’s dark love would often manifest in possessiveness, it would also make him an unrelenting protector. Any true threat to your safety would be met with swift and deadly action. He would not hesitate to strike down anyone who dared to harm or even approach you without his approval. His protective instincts, while born of love, would leave a trail of destruction in their wake.

✧ Elrohir would see your relationship as eternal, unbreakable by anything or anyone. He would frequently speak of “forever,” not as a promise but as a statement of fact. To him, you are his destiny, his one true love, and he would do anything to ensure that you remain by his side for all eternity—whether you want to or not.

✧ Elrohir's physical affection is intense and consuming, always leaving you feeling overwhelmed by the sheer weight of his devotion. He's drawn to your delicate, otherworldly form like a moth to a flame. Your wings-so fragile and luminescent-are his greatest fascination. He's obsessed with their beauty and the way they shimmer in the light, often running his fingers over the edges with a reverence that borders on obsession.

✧ Elrohir makes it his responsibility to care for your wings. He gently brushes them, ensuring they remain pristine and free from harm. If you're ever injured, he's the first to notice, tending to your wounds with a tenderness that contrasts with the dark possessiveness in his gaze. But his care comes at a price: he won't let anyone else even glance at your wings, seeing them as a part of you that belongs only to him.

✧ When Elrohir holds you, it's as if he's trying to fuse your soul with his. His arms wrap around you tightly, his hands tracing the curve of your back with a possessive touch. He's careful with your wings, always mindful not to damage them, but his grip on the rest of you is unyielding. To him, holding you this way is a reminder that you're his and no one else's.

✧ Elrohir worships you with every touch and gesture. He kneels before you, his hands cradling your face or resting on your wings as if you're a divine being sent to him alone. He often kisses the tips of your wings, murmuring words of devotion in Elvish as his lips graze the fragile edges. These moments are both tender and unnerving, as his love feels more like a claim than a gift.

✧ Elrohir insists on being close to you at all times, often resting his head against your shoulder or wrapping his arms around your waist while you sit together. His presence is inescapable, his hands always finding their way to your arms, your hair, or the base of your wings. He craves the warmth of your body, needing the physical connection to reassure himself that you're still his.

✧ Restrained Passion Though his love for you is fiery and consuming, Elrohir is careful when it comes to your wings. He knows how delicate they are and handles them with the utmost care, but this restraint only amplifies the intensity of his affection elsewhere. He kisses you deeply and possessively, his hands gripping your waist or shoulders as though he's trying to anchor you to him.

✧ In private, Elrohir's affection becomes even more overwhelming. He whispers sweet but dark words in your ear, his hands stroking your wings as he tells you how much he loves and needs you. He might say things like, "Your wings are the light of my existence, but it's your heart I crave the most. You were made for me, and I will never let you go."

✧ Elrohir is fiercely protective of you, especially your wings. He refuses to let anyone near you, even if their intentions are innocent. If anyone so much as brushes against your wings, his calm demeanor vanishes, replaced by cold, simmering fury. He'll do whatever it takes to ensure that no one else can touch what he sees as his alone.

✧ To keep you safe, Elrohir constructs a hidden sanctuary just for the two of you. This place is designed to accommodate your wings, with wide, open spaces for you to stretch them and soft perches where you can rest. Every detail is meticulously planned, but it's all done to keep you isolated, away from prying eyes and potential threats.

✧ Possessive Displays of Affection Elrohir loves to touch your wings in public, not just as an act of affection but as a way to assert his claim. He'll run his fingers along the edges or rest his hand on your back, just below your wings, letting everyone know that you're his. These gestures are subtle yet unmistakable, leaving no doubt in anyone's mind that you belong to him.

✧ Dark Devotion His care for you borders on reverence, but it's tinged with a dark intensity that can be suffocating. Elrohir sees your wings as a symbol of your beauty and uniqueness, something that sets you apart and makes you his perfect match. He would go to any lengths to protect and preserve them, even if it means keeping you away from the world.

✧ Eternal Love and Possession Elrohir frequently speaks of your eternity together, his voice filled with both love and an unyielding determination. He believes your wings are a part of your soul, and by cherishing them, he's cherishing you.

"You are my starlight," he might say, tracing the edges of your wings with his fingers. "And I will guard this light until the end of time. You are mine, now and forever."

ꕤ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ꕤ · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ ၄၃ ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · ꕤ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ꕤ

⚔️𝓔𝓵𝓵𝓪𝓭𝓪𝓷

Yandere/Dark Elf Elladan x Female Fairy Reader Headcanons

⭒ Obsessive Love and Possessive Tendencies as Dark Elladan’s love for you is consuming and overwhelming, transforming him into a possessive guardian of your existence. He views you as a radiant, ethereal being whose light belongs solely to him. His obsession manifests in the way he watches over you, memorizing every detail about your life. From the tone of your voice to the way your wings shimmer in the moonlight, no aspect of you escapes his intense focus.

⭒ Elladan is convinced that the world is too dangerous for someone as delicate and otherworldly as you. He would use his charm and cunning to gradually isolate you, convincing you it’s for your safety. Whether it’s Orcs, Men, or even other Elves, he sees everyone as a potential threat to your purity. Rivendell becomes your gilded cage, a sanctuary where no one but Elladan and his chosen few can approach you.

⭒ Elladan’s playful, carefree nature from his lighter self twists into a more manipulative version. He decides what you eat, where you go, and who you speak to, all under the guise of ensuring your comfort and security. If you question his decisions, he brushes off your concerns with soothing words or sharp remarks about the dangers of the outside world.

⭒ Dark Playfulness with a Dangerous Edge While Elladan retains his mischievous streak, it becomes laced with a darker intent. He might tease you about how fragile you are or how easily someone else might try to steal you away, but there’s an underlying menace to his words. He enjoys watching you squirm under his possessive gaze, yet his affection never wanes—it only deepens, becoming almost suffocating.

⭒ Elladan’s affection is no longer the lighthearted smothering of his usual self. Now, every kiss, every embrace, feels like a declaration of ownership. He pulls you close, his grip firm, as though afraid you might vanish if he lets go. His kisses are deep and lingering, filled with a passion that borders on desperation. He whispers words like “Mine” and “You belong to me” against your skin, reaffirming his claim on you.

⭒ Jealousy and Ruthless Elimination of Rivals as Elladan is not one to tolerate any form of competition. If someone else dares to show interest in you or even gazes at you for too long, they become a target of his wrath. While his actions are subtle, they are devastating—an Orc ambush on the road, a sudden reassignment far from Rivendell. To Elladan, it’s not cruelty; it’s justice for anyone who dares to challenge his bond with you.

⭒ Calm but Dangerous When Upset If you defy him or try to escape his control, Elladan’s usual calm demeanor turns chilling. His voice drops to a quiet, menacing tone, his eyes dark with an intensity that makes it clear there’s no point in resisting him. “You think you can leave me?” he might say, his fingers brushing your cheek with deceptive gentleness. “You belong here. With me. Always.”

⭒ Elladan’s penchant for banter becomes darker and more pointed. He enjoys teasing you in a way that reminds you of how deeply tied to him you are. Comments like “Where would you go without me? The wilds would swallow you whole” or “Don’t you know I’m the only one who can truly keep you safe?” slip from his lips with a sly smile.

⭒ Elladan’s protectiveness borders on paranoia. He’s haunted by the memory of his mother, Celebrian, being taken and tormented. This trauma fuels his need to keep you close at all times, never letting you venture far without his supervision. Even a short walk alone becomes a battle of wills, with Elladan insisting it’s far too dangerous.

⭒ Tender Moments Turn Intense Though his love is dark and obsessive, Elladan is still capable of tender moments. When you are hurt or upset, he tends to you with a gentle touch, his concern genuine. However, his tenderness often takes a possessive turn as he uses your vulnerability to draw you closer to him. “See?” he murmurs as he bandages a wound. “You need me. I’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”

⭒ Punishment as a Form of Devotion If you ever push too far—attempt to flee, reject his affection, or openly defy him—Elladan’s patience snaps. His punishments are never physical but emotional, isolating you further or withholding his usual warmth to make you regret your actions. He believes this is for your own good, a way to teach you that life without him is unbearable.

⭒ A Deep Fear of Losing You Beneath Elladan’s dark obsession lies a deep-rooted fear of losing you. The idea of you being taken from him, as his mother was, drives his every action. Even in his darkest moments, his love for you remains the foundation of his behavior—twisted, suffocating, and unyielding. “I would burn the world to keep you safe,” he tells you with a fervent gleam in his eyes. And you believe him.

⭒ Elladan’s need to be close to you can feel overwhelming. He insists on sleeping curled around you, his arms and legs tangled with yours while his hands rest protectively on your wings. Even when awake, he stays close enough that his presence feels inescapable, his touch constant and grounding, as if to remind you that you can’t leave him.

⭒ In his darkest moments, Elladan’s love takes on an almost sinister edge. As he strokes your wings, his voice drops to a quiet, unyielding tone: “I would destroy this world to keep you safe, my love. No one else will have you, not while I live. If you ever leave me…” His words trail off, but the weight of his promise lingers, heavy and chilling.

⭒ Elladan is utterly captivated by your wings, seeing them as the most beautiful and delicate part of you. They symbolize your ethereal nature and remind him of how different—and precious—you are compared to anyone else. He often reaches out to touch them, his fingers brushing gently against their fragile, shimmering surface, murmuring about how they’re a part of you no one else should dare to admire. He’ll make a habit of preening your wings himself, treating the act as an intimate ritual that only he is allowed to perform.

⭒ Elladan’s physical affection is overwhelming and constant, designed to remind you that you are his. He loves to pull you into his lap, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist and burying his face in the crook of your neck. His touch is firm yet reverent, as though he’s afraid you might vanish if he lets go. When he kisses you, it’s slow and consuming, as if he’s trying to pour all his love—and his claim—into every movement.

⭒ Your wings are delicate, and Elladan uses that as an excuse to carry you everywhere he deems too dangerous for you to tread on your own. He lifts you effortlessly into his arms, holding you close as if shielding you from the world. “You don’t need to walk when I’m here,” he says softly, brushing his lips against your temple. He particularly enjoys moments where you rest your head against his chest, your wings fluttering faintly as you relax in his embrace.

⭒ Elladan makes tending to your wings his sacred duty. He carefully cleans and smooths them, ensuring they remain unblemished and perfect. These moments are deeply intimate, with Elladan whispering soft words of adoration as he works. “You are a vision of light,” he murmurs, his hands gentle yet possessive. If anyone else even suggests touching your wings, Elladan’s playful nature vanishes, replaced by a cold, territorial glare.

⭒ Elladan’s touch is ever-present, as if he’s afraid you might slip away if he’s not holding onto you. Whether it’s a hand resting possessively on your waist, his fingers threading through your hair, or his arms encircling you from behind, Elladan ensures you’re always within his reach. He especially loves trailing his fingers along the edges of your wings, marveling at their beauty and fragility.

⭒ Elladan’s kisses are an extension of his obsession, a way for him to claim you over and over again. He often cups your face in his hands, pulling you into deep, lingering kisses that leave you breathless. When he’s feeling particularly possessive, he’ll press kisses along your neck, shoulders, and the base of your wings, whispering promises of devotion between each one.

⭒ Elladan is fiercely protective of your wings, treating any threat to them as a personal offense. If you’re in danger, he places himself between you and the threat, his sword drawn and his expression deadly. Afterward, he checks your wings meticulously, his hands trembling slightly as he ensures they’re unharmed. If they’re injured, even slightly, his rage is uncontrollable—he’ll hunt down whoever or whatever caused.

⭒ Elladan often uses his strength to keep you close, holding you in place when you try to pull away. If you’re upset or resisting his affection, he’ll wrap his arms around you tightly, murmuring soothing words in your ear. “Shhh, my star,” he whispers. “Don’t fight me. I only want to keep you safe.” His hold is firm but never painful, though the possessiveness behind it is undeniable.

⭒ When you’re frightened or upset, Elladan becomes uncharacteristically gentle, his dark obsession momentarily overshadowed by genuine care. He’ll guide you into his arms, wrapping you in his cloak to shield your wings from any chill. His hands stroke your back and wings with a tenderness that almost feels out of place, his voice soft as he whispers reassurances. “You have nothing to fear,” he says. “Not when I’m here to protect you.”

⭒ Elladan loves to leave subtle marks of his affection on you—not bruises or anything that would harm you, but small, lingering touches that remind you of him. He might braid small flowers into your hair and wings, saying they symbolize how he sees you: beautiful, delicate, and entirely his. He also loves to kiss the base of your wings, leaving the faintest sensation of his presence there.

⭒ When you’re resting, Elladan insists on holding you close, his body curled protectively around yours. Your wings are carefully tucked into his embrace, and he makes sure they’re free of any pressure or discomfort. He’ll murmur soft words of love and devotion as you drift off to sleep, his hand trailing along your back and wings in soothing strokes.

⭒ To Elladan, your wings are sacred, and he treats them as such. He often kneels behind you, tracing their delicate patterns with a mix of awe and possessiveness. “You are beyond anything I could have imagined,” he whispers, his voice tinged with both reverence and obsession. His worshipful treatment of your wings becomes another way for him to express his undying devotion.

⭒ Even in the midst of battle or danger, Elladan finds ways to express his love. If you’re injured, he becomes a whirlwind of deadly precision, cutting down anyone or anything that threatens you before turning his full attention to your wounds. He carefully tends to your wings, his hands steady despite the fury still burning in his eyes. “I’ll never let anything harm you again,” he vows, his voice low and fierce.

ꕤ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ꕤ · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ ၄၃ ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · ꕤ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ꕤ

📚𝓔𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓸𝓻

Yandere/Dark Elf erestor x Female Fairy Reader Headcanons

✎ Erestor’s sharp mind, typically dedicated to strategy and problem-solving, becomes consumed by you. As a fairy, your ethereal nature fascinates him beyond reason. He memorizes your every movement, expression, and habit, cataloging them with the same meticulousness he applies to organizing Rivendell’s library. You become the centerpiece of his thoughts, an intricate puzzle he is determined to solve and possess entirely.

✎ Erestor views Rivendell—and the world beyond—as rife with threats to your delicate beauty and unique spirit. He takes it upon himself to “shield” you, using his influence and intelligence to ensure no one has the chance to get too close. He might subtly undermine relationships or tasks that demand your attention away from him, presenting his actions as logical solutions for your safety and well-being.

✎ Intellectual Manipulation With his dry wit and logical demeanor, Erestor has a way of twisting conversations to suit his ends. If you express a desire for freedom or independence, he’ll counter with rational arguments, using your own words and feelings against you. His tone remains calm and measured, but there’s an underlying intensity to his logic that leaves you questioning your own desires.

✎ Erestor doesn’t overtly forbid you from seeing others but instead orchestrates situations that make solitude—and his company—the more appealing option. He may invite you to the library for long discussions or leave thoughtful notes that demonstrate how deeply he understands you, creating a sense that no one else could possibly connect with you as he does.

✎ Erestor takes control of your surroundings with an almost imperceptible finesse. Your favorite books suddenly appear on your bedside table, your preferred flowers are always in bloom near your window, and your schedules mysteriously align with his. These gestures, though thoughtful, are calculated moves to keep you within his grasp.

✎ Erestor’s reserved nature makes his affection all the more intense when it manifests. His love comes in subtle, possessive gestures: a hand lingering on your shoulder, his gaze locking onto yours a moment too long, or a quiet murmur of your name laced with reverence. Each interaction feels like a promise that you are his and no one else’s.

✎ Dark Humor and Sarcasm When it comes to others who might admire you, Erestor’s dry sense of humor takes on a cutting edge. He might comment on their shortcomings in a way that seems lighthearted but carries a clear warning: they are beneath his notice and yours. His sarcasm becomes a weapon to belittle potential rivals without overt hostility.

✎ Relentless Devotion In private, Erestor’s love borders on suffocating. He insists on knowing your thoughts and feelings, claiming it’s to better understand you. He’ll whisper promises of eternal devotion, his voice a mix of tenderness and quiet intensity: “You are mine, in mind and spirit. No force in Arda could take you from me.”

✎ Anger as Ice, Not Fire When angered or jealous, Erestor doesn’t lash out. Instead, his rage is cold and calculated. He distances himself emotionally, withholding his usual warmth while quietly orchestrating events to punish those who crossed him—or you. His icy demeanor during these times is more unsettling than any outburst.

✎ Erestor expresses his affection through carefully chosen gifts that serve as reminders of his claim over you. A rare, beautifully bound book inscribed with a personal note; a necklace with a pendant shaped like a fairy’s wing; or even a secret alcove in the library filled with items he knows you’ll love. Each gift comes with a sense of unspoken ownership.

✎ Jealousy and Control Even the smallest perceived threat to his connection with you triggers his jealousy. If another Elf or being shows interest, Erestor intervenes with quiet but ruthless efficiency. He may ruin their reputation, reassign them elsewhere in Rivendell, or subtly manipulate circumstances to ensure they stay far away.

✎ Erestor is not one for spontaneous displays of love; every touch, kiss, or embrace is deliberate and meaningful. When he pulls you close, it’s with a firmness that leaves no doubt of his control. He may press you against a library wall, his calm exterior giving way to an undercurrent of hunger as he murmurs, “You are my greatest obsession.”

✎ Punishment through Silence If you defy or upset him, Erestor’s response is cold withdrawal. He won’t argue or raise his voice but will retreat into an icy silence that leaves you desperate for his attention. When he finally relents, it’s with a calculated show of forgiveness that reinforces his dominance: “I can’t stay angry with you, even when you test my patience.”

✎ A Prison Disguised as Paradise as Erestor creates an environment so tailored to your desires that it feels like a dream, but it’s also a cage. He ensures you’re surrounded by comfort and beauty, but every aspect of your life is subtly controlled by him. You may not notice the bars until it’s too late to escape.

✎ Unwavering Devotion to “Forever” as Erestor’s obsession transcends mortal limits. To him, your connection is eternal, and he will do whatever it takes to ensure you remain by his side. His whispers of love often carry a chilling finality: “We were meant to endure together, through all the ages of the world. There is no life for you without me.”

✎ Erestor is utterly captivated by your wings, seeing them as the most exquisite part of your being. He often finds excuses to examine them under the guise of “ensuring their safety.” His fingers, cool and deliberate, trace the veins of your wings with reverence, murmuring about their perfection. He is careful, almost tender, but the intensity in his gaze reveals the darker undercurrent of his obsession.

✎ Erestor insists on personally overseeing the care of your wings, providing rare balms and oils to maintain their ethereal glow. However, this “care” often feels suffocating, as he restricts your movements to ensure no harm befalls them. He subtly discourages you from flying, citing dangers that only he, in his wisdom, can foresee. Your wings become both a source of his adoration and a justification for his control.

✎ Erestor’s touches are firm and calculated, designed to leave no doubt that you belong to him. He often places a hand on your shoulder or waist in public, a silent declaration to others that you are under his protection. In private, his affection is more intense—his hands resting on your wings, holding you close as if anchoring you to him.

✎ Affection with a Hint of Dominance When Erestor kisses you, it’s never impulsive. Each kiss is a deliberate act, slow and consuming, as if he’s memorizing the taste of your lips. He often holds the base of your wings gently while he kisses you, a gesture that is both protective and possessive, reminding you of his unwavering control.

✎ Erestor’s acts of service are deeply personal and intimate. He meticulously prepares special resting cushions designed to accommodate your wings, ensuring they are never strained or damaged. He even crafts a private garden filled with soft, flowering vines that mimic the feeling of flight, but only he is allowed to accompany you there.

✎ Erestor often finds ways to draw attention to your wings, praising their beauty in his quiet, intense manner. He might compose poetry comparing their shimmer to the starlight, whispering it to you in the library. However, his admiration is always tinged with a darker possessiveness: “No one else could ever truly appreciate their splendor as I do.”

✎ Under the guise of concern, Erestor controls nearly every aspect of your care. He insists on inspecting your wings after any outing, running his hands over them to “check for damage” while subtly reinforcing your reliance on him. If you resist his care, his calm demeanor falters, replaced by a cold, commanding tone: “You do not understand the dangers, but I do. Trust me.”

✎ Erestor often wraps you in his arms, holding you against him in a way that presses your wings to his chest. These embraces are both comforting and confining, a reminder of his dominance. He murmurs soft, possessive words against your hair: “You are my light in this world. No one else will ever touch you as I do.”

✎ Delicate Worship of Her Wings At night, Erestor’s affection for your wings becomes almost ritualistic. He gently cleans and massages them with rare oils he procures from far-off lands, his touch lingering as he whispers about their beauty. His tone is reverent, but the intensity of his gaze betrays his darker longing to ensure that no one else could ever admire them as he does.

✎ Restrained Passion Though reserved by nature, Erestor’s affection for you occasionally breaks through in moments of unrestrained passion. He’ll press you against the shelves of the library or a quiet alcove, his hands cradling your wings as he kisses you deeply. His careful restraint keeps him from harming your wings, but the intensity of his touch leaves no doubt of his claim over you.

✎ Erestor uses your wings as a justification to limit your interactions with others. He insists that others wouldn’t understand the delicate care they require and that only he is capable of protecting them. If someone dares to compliment your wings, his mood shifts immediately, his sharp wit cutting them down with icy sarcasm.

✎ Erestor ensures you are surrounded by beauty and luxury, but everything is designed to keep you close. He creates a sanctuary where your wings are celebrated but also confined—a private library, a garden only you can access, all spaces where he is your sole companion.

✎ Possessive Words His declarations of love often focus on your wings as a symbol of your uniqueness. He whispers in your ear with a mix of reverence and obsession: “Your wings are a treasure, as are you. No one else could ever deserve their beauty—or yours.”

✎ Punishment through Neglect If you defy him, Erestor’s punishment is subtle but devastating. He withdraws his care, refusing to tend to your wings or offer his usual attentiveness. The absence of his affection leaves you feeling vulnerable and exposed, a reminder of how deeply you rely on him. When he finally relents, his touch is more possessive than ever, a silent warning against future defiance.

✎ Erestor’s obsession with your wings reflects his belief that you are a creature meant to be cherished and protected—for eternity. He views his role in your life as sacred, and his dark devotion ensures that he will never allow you to leave his side. His voice is calm but unyielding as he vows “You are mine, for now and always. No one else will ever know your worth as I do.”

ꕤ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ꕤ · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ ၄၃ ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · ꕤ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ꕤ

🩵𝓒𝓮𝓵𝓮𝓫𝓸𝓻𝓷

Yandere/Dark Elf celeborn x Female Fairy Reader Headcanons

𖣂 Celeborn’s deep love for you, the fairy, would become all-consuming, and in this dark version of himself, it would warp his noble traits. His initial admiration for your ethereal beauty would turn into an obsessive desire to keep you in his domain forever. Celeborn would obsess over every little detail about you—your mannerisms, your voice, the way you flutter through the trees in Lothlórien. Everything about you would be perfect in his eyes, and he’d believe that no one else should ever have the privilege of witnessing your magic.

𖣂 Celeborn’s protective instincts would evolve into controlling behavior. He would keep you close, always by his side, ensuring that no one, not even the wind, could harm you. His realm, Lothlórien, would become your gilded cage. He’d forbid you from leaving the borders of his kingdom, believing that the outside world is too dangerous for someone as delicate as you. Celeborn would justify his actions as love, as an attempt to keep you safe, though you would feel more and more like a prisoner.

𖣂 Manipulative Gentlemen Despite his controlling nature, Celeborn would maintain his composed, dignified manner when interacting with you. He’d charm you with his wisdom, acting as the perfect gentleman, but there’s a darkness lurking behind those kind eyes. His words would be sweet but subtly manipulative. He would speak of your shared future, of forever, constantly reaffirming that you belong to him, even as he limits your freedom.

𖣂 Benevolent Tyranny He would lavish you with gifts, but these gifts would be laced with control. He might present you with beautiful, rare flowers from Lothlórien, but they’d always be in bloom under his careful watch, never allowing anyone else to touch or admire them. His love would feel smothering at times, as every action would be done in the name of keeping you safe and happy, but always at the cost of your independence.

𖣂 Jealousy in Silence as Celeborn’s jealousy would not be expressed in fits of rage, but in subtle, quiet acts of dominance. If another male elf so much as looked at you, Celeborn would appear almost immediately, his hand resting possessively on your shoulder or at your waist. His gaze would be sharp, calculating, silently warning others to keep their distance. Any attempt to talk to you would be interrupted, either by him stepping in or by a sudden, seemingly accidental change in the environment—a leaf dropping, the wind shifting—enough to send a silent, threatening message.

𖣂 Silent Watcher Celeborn would always be nearby, watching you, but never letting you know how closely. When you think you’re alone, he would be hidden, his eyes never leaving you. He’d memorize your every movement, and no action would go unnoticed. He believes that this is his duty, to watch over you, ensuring no harm comes your way. But it would feel less like protection and more like an invasion of your privacy.

𖣂 Possessive Affection When Celeborn expresses his love for you, it would be overwhelming and possessive. His compliments would border on obsessive, telling you that you are his, that you are the only thing that matters in his world. He’d often speak of his undying affection, saying things like, “You are my heart, my only love. I would protect you from all things, even from the world itself.” His actions would match his words—each touch would be tender, but it would feel like he’s marking you as his, ensuring that no one else can claim you.

𖣂 Romantic in the Darkest Way as Celeborn’s romantic gestures would be grand, but dark. He might take you on a walk under the stars in the Golden Wood, but the entire time, he’d be watching you, making sure you don’t speak to anyone else. When you share a quiet moment, he might lean in close and whisper in your ear, “My love for you transcends time. Nothing, not even death, will tear us apart.” His love, though beautifully worded, would start to feel like a trap, binding you to him eternally.

𖣂 Celeborn, knowing the pain of losing loved ones throughout his long life, would project his loneliness onto you. He would convince himself that you are the one being who can fill the void in his heart, the one soul that can stand by him forever. He’d be willing to do anything to keep you at his side—no matter the cost to you. The idea of losing you would break him, and he’d go to great lengths to ensure that never happens.

𖣂 Rejection of Independence While Celeborn would still respect your autonomy in front of others, in private, he would chip away at your independence. He’d express his distaste for the world outside Lothlórien, painting it as dangerous and corrupt, convincing you that the only place you truly belong is with him. Slowly, he’d aim to reshape your entire identity, until you see yourself as part of him—inseparable, bound to his side for all eternity.

𖣂 Manipulating Your Affection Whenever you express affection for him, Celeborn would bask in it, but it would also feed his obsession. He would grow addicted to your love, becoming more desperate each time you return his feelings. He’d want more, wanting to feel the depth of your affection constantly, always ensuring that you are emotionally dependent on him. If you ever tried to pull away or express doubt, he would turn colder, his usually calm demeanor shifting to something more intense, his voice carrying an edge that would make you realize just how deeply he feels about you—his possession, his love, his everything.

𖣂 Celeborn’s loyalty to Lothlórien would extend to you, but in a way that traps you within its borders. He’d say, “Lothlórien is a safe haven, my love. A sanctuary where nothing can harm you, where you will never know pain or loss again.” But in truth, it would be his prison for you both, a gilded cage that he would never allow you to leave. The beauty of Lothlórien, its shimmering woods and tranquil waters, would mask the suffocating isolation that Celeborn would subject you to, all in the name of love. In this darker version of Celeborn, his feelings for you would run so deep that they twist into something darker and more possessive, wrapped in the guise of protection and eternal love.

𖣂 Celeborn’s touch would be both tender and intense, as if claiming you without words. His hands would gently stroke your wings, caressing the delicate membranes with reverence, though always with a possessive undertone. He’d often trace the intricate patterns on your wings, as if memorizing them, his fingers lingering a little too long, his gaze too intense. His touch would be careful yet possessive, making it clear that your wings—so unique and beautiful—are something he holds dear, and no one else should ever admire them the way he does.

𖣂 Shielding Your Wings As a fairy, your wings would be one of your most prized and vulnerable features. Celeborn’s protective instincts would kick into overdrive whenever he’s around you. He would make sure that your wings are shielded from harm, constantly positioning himself between you and potential dangers. In the privacy of Lothlórien, he’d insist on carrying you if you grow tired, gently lifting you in his arms so that your wings are never strained. He’d often delicately fold them around you, wrapping them in his own presence as a way to shelter you from the world outside.

𖣂 Jealousy Over Your Wings If anyone shows even the slightest interest in your wings, Celeborn’s protective nature would flare up. He’d subtly, but fiercely, position himself between you and the observer, his hand resting possessively on your shoulder, the touch a silent warning. “Your wings are for me to admire, my love,” he might whisper softly in your ear, making it clear that he doesn’t like the idea of anyone else appreciating their beauty. His obsession with your wings would be all-consuming, as if they were his to care for, to treasure, and no one else’s.

𖣂 When Celeborn gives you affection, it’s always with a degree of control. He would press kisses along the base of your wings, his lips brushing gently against the delicate points where they meet your back. He’d admire the way your wings flutter when he does so, his eyes softening, but there’s always an air of ownership in the way he holds you, as if you’re his to cherish and protect, and no one else’s. While his kisses would be gentle, there’s an underlying tension—a constant reminder that you belong to him, even in these intimate moments.

𖣂 Celeborn, with his love for the natural beauty of the world, would take great care in grooming your wings. He might sit behind you, brushing through the feathers with a careful hand, making sure they stay pristine and perfect, taking a personal interest in your comfort. He’d insist that only he should touch your wings in such an intimate way, brushing away any debris or imperfections that could mar their beauty. The act of grooming would be both a sign of his affection and his control over you—after all, no one else could ever care for your wings the way he does.

𖣂 Soft, Protective Restraints When Celeborn feels a surge of possessiveness, especially in private, he might hold your wings still with an almost imperceptible, yet firm grip, as if reminding you that they are his responsibility, his to keep safe. His hands would run along your wings in a manner that feels both possessive and affectionate—keeping you in place, but always in the gentlest of ways. He would often murmur words of love and protection as he holds you, his voice warm yet intense, reinforcing his belief that your wings, like you, are something precious he must shield.

𖣂 Long, Enveloping Hugs as Celeborn’s affection would manifest in long, enveloping embraces where his arms wrap around you fully, pulling you close to him. His chest would press against your back, and his hands would hover over your wings, gently cupping them to protect them as you lean into him. The closeness would be comforting, but there’s an ever-present feeling of being held too tightly. His love for you, though tender, would never let you go, and every time you try to pull away, his grip would tighten, though not out of malice, but from a need to keep you within his reach.

𖣂 His Own Personal World Celeborn would try to create a world where it’s just you and him, isolated from the distractions of the outside world. He’d make sure to keep your wings safe by building you a secluded sanctuary deep within Lothlórien, a hidden grove where only he could find you. In this space, your wings would be free to stretch and flutter without fear, but always under his watchful eye. He would be there to greet you with soft touches, brushing his fingers against your wings as if marking them as his own. Here, you’d be surrounded by his love—and his control—where you’d feel the weight of both.

𖣂 Celeborn would regard your wings as the most precious part of you, seeing them as symbols of your beauty and grace. When he gives you gifts, they would often be things that reflect the ethereal quality of your wings—silk scarves, fine threads, or precious stones that he’d delicately place on your wings. The idea of you wearing these gifts would please him immensely, and when he sees you wearing something he’s given you, it would feel like an extension of his affection for you, even though it would reinforce the idea that you belong to him.

𖣂 Celeborn’s protection of your wings would be symbolic of his larger desire to control every aspect of your life. When you venture outside Lothlórien, he would go to great lengths to ensure that your wings are always shielded—whether it be with a veil of magic or simply by positioning himself next to you to prevent any accidental harm. His obsession would make him insist on carrying you when you need to fly, always making sure that you’re never out of his sight. He would claim that it’s for your own safety, but deep down, you would begin to feel that it’s just one more way he is tying you to him.

ꕤ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ꕤ · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ ၄၃ ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · ꕤ ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ꕤ

[silvantransthranduiltrash]

Elladan: do you ever just... not know what to do with yourself?

Legolas: ... pardon?

Elladan: like, we have the rest of eternity to do things and it's not like we don't already have plenty of free time. we might be Imlardis's heirs, but it's not like we have that much to do. Ada and Naneth and Glorfindel and Erestor and Lindir takes care of the bulk of the administration and politics.

Elrohir: Meanwhile we just, you know, learn and train and go out on patrols but it's not like anything is urgent, so we have a lot of time where we're just... bored.

Legolas: ...

Legolas: You guys have free time??

[rivendell-poet]

*･༓˚✧ ❝𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭❞ ‧͙⁺˚༓˚✧

○ Lord of the Rings ○ The Hobbit ○

○ Aragorn ○ Legolas ○ Frodo ○ Sam ○ Merry ○ Pippin ○ Boromir ○ Faramir ○ Éowyn ○ Éomer ○ Haldir ○ Elladan ○ Elrohir ○ Bard ○ Thranduil ○ Lindir ○ Tauriel ○ Thorin ○ Fíli ○ Kíli ○ Dwalin ○ Bofur ○ Bilbo ○

romantic unless it says otherwise

𝐋𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 :

𝐒𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐬/𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬 (𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬*) * ○ Aragorn ○ Legolas ○ Frodo ○ Sam ○ Merry ○ Pippin ○ Boromir ○ Faramir ○ Éowyn ○ Éomer ○ Bard ○ Thranduil ○ Tauriel ○ Lindir ○ Haldir ○ Elladan ○ Elrohir ○

How you first met (Wordcount : 4k)

Your second meeting (Wordcount : 4k)

Your third meeting (Wordcount : 4.1k)

You become friends (Wordcount : 3.2k)

When they realise they like you (Wordcount : 3.2k)

What they do with this realisation (Wordcount : 3.7k)

They get jealous (Wordcount : 3.7k)

They confess their feelings (Wordcount : 4.2k)

Your first date (Wordcount : 5.2k)

Your first kiss (Wordcount : 3.3k)

Telling others (Wordcount : 2.9k)

You fluster them (Wordcount : 3.4k)

Their families opinion (Wordcount : 2.9k)

First 'I love you' (Wordcount : 2.9k)

��𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 (𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬) :

Trick-or-treat masterlist (Each 'treat' is a short oneshot around 100-200 words)

Holiday gifts masterlist (Each 'gift' is a short oneshot around 100-300 words)

Fellowship with a sassy/crude tenth-walker (GN!Reader | Platonic or Romantic | Requested | Wordcount : 1.2k)

Fellowship with an oblivious-to-flirting tenth-walker (GN!Reader | Requested | Wordcount : 1k)

Fellowship seeing the reader as a younger sibling (GN!Reader | Platonic | Requested | Wordcount : 2.1k)

Fellowship with a reader who's terrified of thunderstorms (GN!Reader | Requested | Wordcount : 1.6k)

Fellowship with a short reader (GN!Reader | Platonic or Romantic | Requested | Wordcount : 1.7k)

Fellowship (& co.) with a reader with hypoglycemia (GN!Reader | Requested | Wordcount : 2k)

Fellowship (& co.) and a tandem-bicycle (GN!Reader | Requested | Crack | Wordcount : 0.7k)

"Can you hold this [your hand] for me?" (Fellowship) (GN!Reader | Requested | Wordcount : 0.6k)

Elves with a very affectionate reader (GN!Reader | Elves = Legolas, Thranduil, Haldir, Lindir, Meludir, Feren & Glorfindel | Wordcount : 1.3k)

Fellowship with a reader who's the big spoon (Requested | Wordcount : 1.4k)

Fellowship with a reader who struggles with social cues (GN!Reader | Requested | Wordcount: 1.8k)

Fellowship with a reader who gets dizzy spells (GN!Reader | Requested | Wordcount: 1.8k)

𝐀𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐧 :

SFW Alphabet (GN!Reader | Wordcount : 2.4k)

Reader who looks like Aragorn & Arwen's child (Part 2 - Fellowship-centric reaction) (Scenario | Platonic | GN!Reader | Wordcount : 0.6k & 0.6k)

Dance with me (One-shot | Wordcount : 2.1k | TWs : Dark-ish/hints of possession | Requested)

Warmth (One-shot | GN!Reader | Wordcount : 1.3k | TWs : None | Requested)

𝐋𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐬 :

I can't speak Elvish & (story from his POV) (Two-shot | GN!Reader | Wordcount : 2.3k & 4.3k | No TWs | Love confessions/misunderstandings)

I love (everything about) you (One-shot | GN!Reader | Wordcount : 2.6k | TWs : Body-image issues | Requested | Hurt/comfort)

SFW Alphabet (GN!Reader | Wordcount : 2.7k)

x reader who was part of Thorin's Company (Scenario | GN!Reader | Wordcount : 0.5k | No TWs | Fluff)

𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐨 :

Hang the stars for you (One-shot | GN!Reader | Wordcount : 1.9k | No TWs | Love confessions & fluff)

SFW Alphabet (GN!Reader | Wordcount : 2.8k)

𝐏𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧 :

Mishaps & Musicality (One-shot | GN!Reader | Wordcount : 1.9k | No TWs | Requested | Love confessions & fluff)

𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 :

SFW Alphabet (GN!Reader | Requested | Wordcount : 2.1k)

𝐁𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐫 :

SFW Alphabet (GN!Reader | Wordcount : 2.5k)

C is for Cuddles (152 words | Alphabet bonus)

𝐅𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐫 :

SFW Alphabet (GN!Reader | Requested | Wordcount : 2.7k)

"Marry me?" (Oneshot | GN!Reader | Requested | Wordcount : 0.5k | No TWs)

𝐄𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐫 :

SFW Alphabet (GN!Reader | Requested | Wordcount : 2.2k)

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐛𝐛𝐢𝐭 :

Thorin's company with a short reader (GN!Reader | Requested | Wordcount : 1k)

Thorin's company with a contortionist reader (GN!Reader | Requested | Wordcount : 1.2k)

Thorin's company and your first kiss (GN!Reader | Requested | Wordcount : 1.1k)

Thranduil and a dragon-scarred reader (Scenario | Platonic | GN!Reader | Wordcount : 1k | TWs : Discussion of scarring | Comfort)

Fíli SFW Alphabet (GN!Reader | Requested | Wordcount : 2.1k)

Thorin SFW Alphabet (GN!Reader | Requested | Wordcount : 2.7k)

*･༓˚✧ ❝𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭❞ ‧͙⁺˚༓˚✧ (last updated 5/4/25 [uk date])

[anghraine]

I originally compiled a set of quotes about how Elrond and his children are not identified exclusively as Elves a couple of years ago in a reblog, but I wanted an easier version of my post for reference, so here it is:

The distinction between Elves and half-Elves is most glaring with Elladan and Elrohir, but there’s an interesting description of Elrond as great among Elves and Men, as if (despite his fate lying with Elves) he’s both/neither. And, of course, when Aragorn wishes for Elrond as he goes about healing, he describes Elrond not as a better healer because he’s an Elf, but because “he is the eldest of all our race, and has the greater power” (ROTK, “The Houses of Healing”).

In addition, I think the language used around Elladan and Elrohir is really interesting. When they show up with the Dúnedain of the North, Legolas says of them, “they are fair and gallant as Elven-lords; and that is not to be wondered at in the sons of Elrond of Rivendell” (ROTK, “The Passing of the Grey Company”). They are like Elven-lords because they’re Elrond’s sons, but not actually called Elven-lords.

When we actually see Elladan and Elrohir, we hear: “So much alike were they, the sons of Elrond, that few could tell them apart: dark-haired, grey-eyed, and their faces elven-fair” (same chapter). They look as fair as Elves. But when the Grey Company, including Elladan and Elrohir, goes to the Paths of the Dead:

“The company halted, and there was not a heart among them that did not quail, unless it were the heart of Legolas of the Elves, for whom the ghosts of Men have no terror” (same chapter).

Later, as the armies of the west make their way to the Black Gate, we hear:

“And from that evening onward the Nazgûl came and followed every move of the army. They still flew high and out of sight of all save Legolas…” (ROTK, “The Black Gate Opens”).

Even the random minstrel of Gondor at the Field of Cormallen addresses those present at the victory celebrations with:

“Lo! lords and knights and men of valour unashamed, kings and princes, and fair people of Gondor, and Riders of Rohan, and ye sons of Elrond, and Dúnedain of the North, and Elf and Dwarf, and greathearts of the Shire…” (ROTK, “The Field of Cormallen”).

So the exceptional nature of Elrond and his children does seem a) accurate, given the exclusion of Elladan and Elrohir from generalizations about Elves, and b) very generally understood and accepted.

Oh, and there’s also Tolkien’s extratextual translation of Elladan and Elrohir’s names:

“Both signify elf+man. Elrohir might be translated ‘Elf-knight’; rohir being a later form (III 391) of rochir ‘horse-lord.’ Elladan might be translated ‘Elf-Númenórean’” (Letters 282).

Rohir is “a later form” of rochir because it’s Gondorian/Númenórean usage. The El- in both names and the suffixes indicating 'mortal man' clearly refer to Elrond’s family—so for instance, Elladan can only be considered a Númenórean of any kind through Elrond. If, as Elrond’s sons with a fully Elvish woman, they are not considered Elves, this can only be all the more true for Elrond himself.

[doodle-pops]

Kissing Them Mid-Conversation | House of Elrond + Doriath

「 ✦ Elrond ✦ 」

Elrond had been deep in discussion with you, his voice calm and authoritative as he explained some historical details of Valinor’s history. His eyes were bright with knowledge, the gentle cadence of his speech captivating as always. But you found yourself less focused on his words and more on the way his lips moved, the elegant arch of his eyebrows, the softness in his eyes that contrasted so beautifully with the wisdom they held. You didn’t plan it, but the next thing you knew, you leaned forward and kissed him, silencing him mid-sentence.

His words were cut off as his lips met yours. His initial surprise only lasted a moment before his shoulders relaxed, and he melted into the kiss, his hand instinctively finding its way to your cheek. The conversation was forgotten entirely as he returned the kiss, slow and tender, savouring the moment. When you finally pulled back, he didn’t say anything at first, just stared at you with a faint smile, his fingers brushing your jawline. He chuckled softly, as though the interruption was the most natural thing in the world. No more history for now—he was entirely yours in that moment.

「 ✦ Erestor ✦ 」

You’d been going over a strategy with Erestor, his mind sharp and focused as always. His attention was entirely on the plans spread out before you, his fingers tracing the edges of the map. But as he leaned over the table, the way his dark hair fell into his eyes, the way his lips moved as he muttered to himself—it was all too tempting. Without warning, you reached up and kissed him, cutting through the tension in the air.

Erestor blinked in shock, straightening immediately as if unsure of what just happened. His cheeks flushed a deep red, utterly unprepared for the interruption. He opened his mouth to speak but then closed it again, utterly at a loss for words. His eyes flickered between the map and you as if trying to regain his composure. A nervous chuckle escaped him, and he ran a hand through his hair, clearly flustered. “That...was unexpected,” he managed much softer than before. He didn’t scold you, but his lips curved into a rare smile, and despite the heat in his cheeks, there was a warmth in his eyes that told you he enjoyed it.

「 ✦ Elrohir ✦ 」

Elrohir had been telling you a story, his hands moving animatedly as he spoke, his usual brightness and energy captivating. His smile was contagious, his laughter genuine, and you couldn’t stop yourself. Mid-sentence, as he grinned widely at something he’d said, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his, interrupting him without a second thought.

His initial reaction was a surprised inhale, his body stilling as he processed what had just happened. But in the span of a heartbeat, he was already leaning into the kiss, his hands coming up to cradle your face. He didn’t waste time—he deepened the kiss, his enthusiasm carrying over into this new, far more intimate moment. The conversation was forgotten entirely as he pulled you closer, his lips warm and insistent. When you finally broke apart, he was grinning like a mischievous child caught in the act. “Well, if that’s how you want to interrupt, I’m not complaining,” he teased, his eyes gleaming with playful intent. He wasn’t interested in resuming the conversation anytime soon.

「 ✦ Elladan ✦ 」

Elladan had been in the middle of explaining something to you, his voice smooth and steady, as usual, his expression thoughtful. But you weren’t really listening. You were too distracted by the way his lips formed each word, the way his eyes flicked between you and whatever he was talking about. So you cut him off mid-sentence with a kiss, your lips pressing against his before he could even finish his thought.

His breath froze at the unexpected affection. He blinked, stunned for a brief moment, but then he smiled against your lips. He gently returned the kiss, his hand resting on your waist as if he’d been waiting for an excuse to stop talking all along. When you pulled away, he gave you a knowing look, his eyes gleaming with playful amusement. “If you wanted me to stop talking, you could’ve just asked,” he murmured teasingly in a lower register, though he made no effort to move away from you. The conversation was clearly no longer a priority for him.

「 ✦ Thingol ✦ 」

You had been deep in conversation with Thingol, the great Elven king discussing matters of Doriath with his usual enthusiasm. His words were important, of course, but the way his eyes shone in the soft light, the slight curl of his lips when he smiled—it was all far too distracting. Without thinking, you leaned in and kissed him mid-sentence, startling him out of his train of thought.

Thingol stiffened at first, caught entirely off guard by your sudden boldness. His words faltered, and for a moment, he looked utterly stunned. But then, slowly, a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. His regal composure softened, and he tilted his head slightly, returning the kiss with a gentle, deliberate tenderness. When you pulled back, he chuckled, low and rich, shaking his head. “You’re a distraction,” he said, amusement clear in his tone. His eyes sparkled, and though he was clearly amused, there was no annoyance in his expression. He lifted a hand to your cheek, brushing his thumb along your skin before murmuring, “But a welcome one.”

「 ✦ Beleg ✦ 」

Beleg had been talking about a recent hunt, his eyes bright with excitement as he recounted the details. His enthusiasm was infectious, and you couldn’t help but watch him with growing affection. He looked so alive, so utterly captivating, that you found yourself leaning in and kissing him right in the middle of his sentence.

He felt him pause, completely caught off guard. His eyes widened, cheeks flushing a deep red as he tried to process what had just happened. For a second, he seemed utterly at a loss, but then a grin broke across his face. “Well, that’s one way to stop me from rambling,” he quipped. He pulled you closer, his arm slipping around your waist as he pressed a kiss to your temple. “Though I can’t say I mind.” There was a playful glint in his eyes as he looked at you, clearly enjoying your boldness. The conversation was forgotten entirely, replaced by the warmth of his embrace.

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[hailearendel]

Elladan or Elrohir, or both (lol) are ready!!!!

I couldn't help making them twinkle in the dark

[thewulf]

Time is of the Essence || Legolas

Summary: Request - Heyy I was wondering if I could request a Legolas imagine where gimli tells the reader that Legolas likes them, maybe before a battle. Then throughout the battle they are distracted or thinking about what gimli said. Then after the battle the reader goes to tell Legolas that they feel the same or something like that :)

A/N: This one got away from me lmao but I had so much fun writing it. THANK YOU for all the requests. Wouldn't be here without each and every one of you!

Pairing: Legolas x Female Reader

Word Count: 6.3k +

TW: General LOTR triggers, blood, talk of death, shooting, stabbing etc

“Who is that?” Asking quickly your eyes snapped up to the dark-haired twin standing tall next to you. His eyes turned to see the prince from Mirkwood ascending the steps to meet his father, Lord Elrond.

Elladan smirked at your curiosity. For in all the years he had known you, you had never so much given another ellon the time of day. Your interests always seemed to lie elsewhere, until now it seemed, “That is Legolas Thranduilion. Prince of Mirkwood.” He spoke lowly so only you could hear.

Elladan watched as your eyes seemed to be captured by him. You watched as he walked up the marble staircase leading to Elrond before turning back to him, “Prince?” You attempted to bite back the discontent at that one word for you would never have a chance with someone of such stature.

He nodded slowly, “As I remember. It has been a few hundred years since we have had an actual conversation. King Thranduil has Legolas all over middle earth bidding for Mirkwood.”

“Very well.” Turning your attention back to the woodland elf your eyes nearly bugged out of their sockets seeing that he was staring right at you. A soft smile graced his lips as he caught your eye. He had far more courage than you as you turned back to Elladan swiftly with an evident burning on your cheeks.

He snickered softly knowing that every single one of them could hear if he laughed or talked any louder. You elbowed his side trying to get him to quiet down. The last thing you wanted was even more attention on your party of two. Lord Elrond had asked you and his son, Elladan, to receive the guests of the Council of Elrond as they arrived.

You had been taken in by Elrond and his family after your mother and father were called to the sea nearly a thousand years ago. You were a relatively young elf, just over five hundred years old, when your parents had decided it was their time to go.

You had tried to assure them that you would be just fine being alone. You were young but you were still an adult. They wouldn’t go until they knew you’d be taken care of as you didn’t have any siblings to lean on. Your closest kin resided in Lothlorien, a place you had no desire to go even though they begged. But Rivendell was your home, and you had no desire to leave it behind.

Celebrian had always wanted more children but could bare no more. She had heard of your parents predicament from her many visits throughout the city. See, most elves were natural gossips, so it was not even like she had to ask for it. It was just given to her. So, she decided it was time for her to act on it. It felt natural for her to take you in with her, Elrond, and the children. Then she met you and just knew you would fit right in with their family. You were moved into their home no longer than a month later and your parents had set sail the very next one.

No ill will was held toward your parents. You could only imagine how long their lives had been as they had only told you the bits they wished to divulge. They had decided to have you late in life. After nearly four thousand years. They had no plans on leaving you that soon, but the call was so strong they could no longer ignore it for the Valar had its reasons. It was a great sacrifice to stay is middle earth when the sea was calling so longingly. You could no longer be selfish as you were plenty capable of living on your own. Being taken in by Elrond and his family was a gift upon itself, you’d flourished under their eye. You had nearly mastered the art of healing in the one thousand years you’d been under his instruction.

After your parents left, not a hundred years later Celebrian had found the same calling. It broke your heart all over again watching Elrond and his children, your dear friends, let go of their wife and mother. You had almost felt guilty thinking your parents departure had something to do with hers. The calling must have been strong if she was willing to leave her entire family behind. You had thought maybe they would cast you aside now the Celebrian, the one who had wanted you the most, had gone. The opposite was true though. They held onto you stronger than ever before. Sooner, they were more your family than your own. Later, you’d lived with them longer than your parents. New memories with Elrond, Arwen, Elrohir, and Elladan began to overtake those of with your parents.

“Prince Legolas.” Lord Elrond’s voice brought your eyes back to the top of the stairs instead of at Elladan, “Rivendell is most welcome to host your visit for the Council of Elrond.” On cue you bowed to the revered prince. You’d heard nothing but good things of him. Nobody spoke of how handsome he was though. Striking in the best ways. You should have known he would be of that stature after seeing his father, King Thranduil in passing once. That as an intimidating elf if you had ever of seen one.

“Hir nin (my lord).” Legolas bowed back to him, “It is always most welcome to visit Rivendell.” To your horror he looked right at you before continuing loud enough for all to hear, “I have met your son, Elladan. Who might the lady be?”

Your face must have been aflame by now with all the attention keyed in right on you, “Ah, that is my youngest daughter. Lady Y/N.” You’d so rarely been referred to as his daughter it had caught you off guard. For whom else might you be? Everybody in Rivendell knew of your status why should he not claim you for his own? He had known you and cared for you well-being longer than your very own parents had.

He smiled hearing your name on the Lord’s lips, “Youngest daughter? Have I been so distant I did not know you had another daughter?”

Elrond smiled looking over to you. Trying your very best to remain stoic you were sure your father could see right through it, “My daughter has been mastering the craft of healing.” He turned back to Legolas before muttering something in his ears that he did not let you hear no matter how hard you strained to. Maybe Elladan caught it but he just shook his head at you as you looked over to him.

Legolas turned giving you another bright smile. He bowed right at you before walking over, “It is a pleasure, Lady Y/N.” He was much bolder than all the ellon you had met in Rivendell.

You let out a strangled cough. One that your brother knew was one of sheer panic. He let out another chuckle which meant another elbow was sent right to his ribs, “All the same Prince Legolas.”

His smile was something you had rarely seen in an elf. It was so pure. One that made you want to smile right along with him. What was it? What with you? Why was this ellon making you act like a fool? You needed to get it together and quick. Elrond would see right through your little coy act. He was far from dumb. Perhaps the opposite. He was the smartest elf you had ever met. It was impossible to try and get a leg up on him as he was already ten steps ahead.

“Legolas is fine, Lady Y/N.”

You nodded quickly, “Then I must insist, Y/N is fine as well.”

“Indeed, it is. Y/N.” He spoke to you before turning his eyes towards your brother behind you, “Elladan. It is nice to see you once more. I trust Elrohir is faring well?”

“He is well, Legolas. He is away seeing to personal matters in Minas Tirith at the moment or else he would be here.” Elladan turned serious as the prince’s eyes were on him now.

“That is not a worry. It is good to hear he is doing well. Elladan. Y/N.” He bowed to you once more before turning and walking back to Elrond, clapping him on the back like they were old friends. You were sure they actually were. You’d never been privy to life outside of Rivendell. You’d also never really cared. You never needed to. Not until things started turning dark. Suddenly you had to care about everywhere but Rivendell. Elrond sent you on small quests at first. Then longer and harder ones. You had no idea what he had planned next, but you were sure it was going to be big considering what was happening with Sauron. He tried to keep it quiet, but you heard whispers. It was an impossible darkness to hide.

The next few days went the same as the last. You’d received a few humans from Gondor, Boromir, and his crew. He was as funny a human as you had ever met and crass as ever. You quite enjoyed him. Next up were the dwarves and the harsh stares you received from Gimli and his kin. The dwarves were no fans of your elven kind. You had already met Strider and the four Hobbits to which you had taken quite the liking to towards as well. You’d never received so many different people and creatures from across middle earth and you were having a wonderful time. Elrond had suspended your studies while the council was in session leaving you to wander during the daytime on your own free will.

You had taken to shooting your bow trying to get in as many reps before all out war commenced. Elrond would never admit it, but it was coming. You could sense it. Things had never been so cold and dark as long as you had been in middle-earth. Lord Elrond had all but admitted it had not been this bad since Sauron came around the first-time thousands of years ago.

Being wrapped up in your thoughts your senses had betrayed you. The Prince of Mirkwood had snuck up on you. A usually impossible task that was easier as you had been distracted by your very own thoughts, “Raise your arm a little.” He spoke from beside you. Letting the breath, you’d been holding in out you turned to him lowering your bow in the process.

“Legolas. What are you doing here?” He was indeed the last person you had expected to see. He had been locked in your fathers study for the better part of the week. He was a part of the strategizing crowd not even your brothers were privy to. Elrond had done a masterful job of hiding his children away. He had no desire to put you in harm’s way on the front lines. But even as he tried he could no longer hold you back.

He shrugged giving you the eye as your bow was still loaded in your hand. You pulled the arrow into the quiver connected at your hip in a hurry before slinging the bow itself over your shoulder, “Needed some time away. Things were getting a little personal in there.” He smiled but it wasn’t the bright smile you’d seen on his face prior. It had been dulled.

“So, you come to the practice range?” You asked curiously. Knowing so little of the elf you knew you were digging for something hoping he would give you a little more.

“Exactly, my lady.” He grinned holding his hand out for your bow.

“Y/N.” You corrected him not liking how that sounded. Far too mature for your stature.

He gave you a lazy smile, “That is right. Exactly, Y/N.” He kept his hand out waiting for you to hand him the bow. Slowly you pulled it off you back and handed it to him. To your surprise he started inspecting it. You’d felt terribly self-conscious as you had crafted it far too quickly. It was just your practice bow after all and it was one of your first attempts.

“This is lovely.” He grinned over at you as he held his other hand for your arrows. To which you gave him as you were now far too curious to see how this prince would do. He was nothing short of a whispered fear around Rivendell. The stories your brothers have told of him made you far too curious of the blue-eyed elf.

“That is a lie.” You laughed.

He shook his head, “It is fine work. I, myself, could hardly do better.” You watched as his hands traced your woodworking. You were not overly proud of the piece. In fact, you’d all but thrown it away finding yourself frustrated at not being able to carve in the finer details as you had planned. Eventually, after a few too many attempts you’d succeeded at getting the right shape but gave up on the detail.

“Are you trying to flatter me?” You questioned letting him know it was you who had made the bow.

He looked over at you curiously, “Did you make this?” Asking as if he didn’t quite believe you he waited for your response.

“I did indeed.”

He looked you over once more before trying the bow out himself. You’d heard of how good he was, but it was hard to believe until you had seen it. In a matter of seconds, he had not only shot all of your arrows but had placed them perfectly around your target. It was more than impressive. Wood elves were known for their skills with the bow, but this was nothing like you had ever seen. Not even your bow master could keep up with something like this.

He turned back to you with an even bigger smile on his face, “It shoots even better than it looks! You have a talent.”

You gawked at him without so much as a care of how dumb you looked, “You just shot like that, and you are saying that I have the talent?”

“Aye.” He set the bow down before heading over to retrieve the arrows. He looked back waiting for you to follow, “This would not be possible if your work was not as balanced as it is. I must ask you to make my next bow. I will pay you handsomely for your work.” He spoke as if money was the issue with his request.

“Oh!” Your cheeks were surely there usual fiery hot selves as they usually were when Legolas had come around, “I hardly doubt I could make…”

He shook his head cutting you off, “You must not doubt yourself. I would not ask you to if I did not think you could.”

You nodded knowing there was no actual point in arguing with him. He was as stubborn as you were and nobody was going to win the fight that was surely going to ensue, “All right then. I will make you a bow. On one condition.”

“And that condition is?” His smile only seemed to grow as he talked to you. It’s infectiousness wearing off right on you for how could you not grin when he was smiling at you like that?

“You do not pay me. Let me make it for you as a friend?”

He nodded, “That is a condition I can accept. As long as you let me return the favor?”

You giggled feeling his eyes wash over yours in bliss at your reaction, “You cannot give me a condition for my very own condition!”

“Please?” He asked with such a softness you could only nod at him.

“You may return the favorite, mellon nin.”

The two of you had spent the better part of the afternoon chatting, laughing, and avoiding the reality of the situation of the world at present. You had one of the best afternoons you probably ever have had in this lifetime goofing around with the prince. He was certainly not the ellon you’d expected. He had become more than you could have ever had imagined and more.

It did not take long for you to fall for the prince. After Elrond had volunteered you for The Fellowship you had grown close to him. About halfway through the journey, after Pippin and Merry had been taken and you’d been running for days is when you knew. That was when you knew you had feelings for the elf. The signs had always been there, but it was his constant care and checking up to make sure that you were all right that made you realize where your heart had actually lied with the elven prince.

It was decidedly not a good position to be in. He could never be with you. The king would never approve. You would be left longing and loving for an elf who was strictly off limits. The journey to Mordor had been nothing short of rough. You were constantly amazed and astonished at Gimli and Aragorn keeping up, the Hobbits trail, the wizard coming back. It was almost too much too believe. When Aragorn rose from the dead in Helm’s Deep you could not believe it. That was why you had decided to fight. For him and middle earth.

“What are you doing?” Legolas looked at you desperately as you placed the chain-link guard around your torso.

“Preparing.” You spoke matter of factly not noticing Gimli behind him.

“For what?” He asked. For what? Was he mad? Playing dumb surely.

The look on your face let him know you were not playing, “The battle, Legolas. I will not let you all go out there without me. Not once more while I sit behind. I am more than ready and far more than prepared.”

“You will not. I will not have you go out there. You must stay back and tend to the wounded. Your skills are needed here!” For the first time Legolas sounded frantic. Out of control. Worried as if he knew you would go against his wishes. He was right, of course. Legolas had gotten to know you well over the course of the journey from Rivendell. He’d learned of your ticks and habits. Your nature and goodwill. How your morals had outweighed your better judgment for yourself. He’d learned why Elrond had hidden you for so long. You’d be a danger onto yourself more so than he could protect you.

You shook your head slowly, “My skills are needed in the battle and even you know that ernil nin (my prince).” Looking down you were almost afraid to look into his eyes at this moment.

He walked up to you before whispering a low, “We are not done discussing this, mellon nin.” Though his words were kind his tone was off. You gulped. But before you could even open your eyes the prince had stormed off. Likely to cool down. He’d made it clear he didn’t want you anywhere near the field yet here you were doing everything he wished you wouldn’t do.

When you finally looked up you saw the cheeky smirk of the red-haired dwarf staring right at you, “Gimli.” You bowed, “How long have you been standing there master dwarf?”

“The entire time.” He confirmed, “You have given our favorite elf quite the scare.”

You eyed him knowing that he was digging and pressing for something, “He will come to his senses.”

“Or you must come to yours.” He countered with a wicked smile. One that made you feel like you were missing out on something.

“What is that supposed to mean Gimli?”

He gruffed at you, “You cannot be that blind! I was lead to believe elves have some weird, enhanced vision or something.”

“There is no need to be so hostile young dwarf.” You smiled at Gimli letting him know you were surely playing along with him even though you were clueless to what he was actually insinuating, “I unfortunately do not know what you are attempting to tell me though.”

He shook his head with a swift movement, “The Prince of Mirkwood has feelings for you lassie.”

Simply blinking your eyes, you surely could not have heard him correctly, “Has feelings?”

He rolled his eyes, “Aye... are you going to make me come outright with it then?”

You nodded, "I am indeed. Elves are blunt and I am unfortunately very oblivious.” You smile only grew as he huffed and puffed almost looking embarrassed to have to say it out loud.

“The Prince of Mirkwood likes you lassie. He will not stop bringing you up whenever you are not around. He is driving me mad. Gold sickness isn’t even this bad.” As your cheeks grew a blush so did Gimli’s.

It was obviously all in good fun to tease him but what he had actually said struck a chord within you. How was that possible? He was actual royalty. You were a commoner for all intents and purposes, “He cannot.” You said not letting your hopes rise for you had liked Legolas deeply. From the moment your eyes laid upon him in your home all those days ago. What an adventure you had been on as you trekked across middle earth with the ellon you may have loved.

“Oi lassie! He can and he does. Did you not just see his reaction to you going into this battle?”

You shook your head, “Well, yeah but…”

“No. He likes you. Very much so. Drones on and on about how pretty you are. How smart you are. How sweet you are. It is exhausting Y/N.” Gimli dramatically sat down on the bench near the wall.

“I should be offended you find talking about me so exhausting master Gimli.” You raised your brows to challenge him as you sat down next to him.

“Nary the case my lady. It has been months you see. And he will not say a thing to you. Months of it lassie! You are lovely. He would be quite lucky to have you. I am simply tired. He will not listen to me. That is why I am telling you this now.” You only gave you a smirk as he leaned his head against the wall.

“Months is not a long time for an elf.” You giggled knowing how much it would set the poor dwarf off. He was almost too easy to poke and prod at. A simple action would result in an explosive reaction out of him.

He eyes lowered in on yours, “Insufferable. The both of ya. Truly meant for him aren’t you?” He got up before giving you a quick bow, “I will see you on the battlefield my lady.”

“I’ll beat both of you this time.” You grinned trying to lighten the darkening mood taking over Helm’s Deep. Time was of the essence now.

“You will not!” He boomed, “I will kill the most orcs!” He walked out of the room before you could object. With a deep breath you finished putting on the chain link armour. You’d wished Elrond would have prepped you a little more as you sheathed your sword. You could do this. You absolutely had to do this. You had to tell Legolas you liked him back. It was rare, to feel the connection you’d felt with him. Truly, time was of the essence.

You had lost him early on in the battle. You were holding Legolas’s hand before you had to dodge away from an axe being thrown. From there on out it was you and yourself against too many orcs to count. Terror began to consume you as you fell back in the crowd of men and elves. But you could do this. You had to do this. Legolas liked you! You could have a life with the most handsome ellon you had ever laid your eyes upon. You just had to kill every single disgusting orc around you. Easy. You could do it. For Legolas. For you. For a life you craved.

You hadn’t a clue what overcame you as you fought and fought for hours. You witnessed more death than you ever had in your life as the never-ending siege kept ticking on. You fell back and fought. Fell back and fought. Fight or die. Fight to live on with Legolas. You tried to search for his golden hair as you fought but begrudgingly came up short time and time again. It was only when dawn broke with Gandalf and the Rohirrim showing up did you feel a twinge of hope as the orcs turned to them instead of charging on into Helm’s Deep. You stood on guard as the Rohirrim charged on. It felt like you would collapse from the relief seeing the help pour in. Emotion truly overtook you as you saw that flash of golden hair on the war horse down the bridge. Legolas was alive and well. It was going to be okay. You were going to get to tell him that you liked him.

You watched in awe as the orc army was slain. Some tried to run but were devoured by the very forests that once protected them. Sheathing your sword and throwing your bow over your shoulder you found your way back to the dining hall turned emergency healing ward knowing they would need all they help they could get. You had a lifetime to tell Legolas how you felt, the men and defenders of Helm’s Deep needed you more now.

Despite your own cuts that were too deep to heal quickly you pressed on. Throwing some bandages on the worse ones you rolled up your sleeves and got to work. You were in your element as you ordered people around as efficiently as possible and got to as many men as you could.

But that voice broke your stupor. It always would, “You must give yourself a break.” Legolas. He had found you faster than you would have thought.

You spun around on your heal after patching the man up, “I am fine. These men and elves are not.” Holding out your hand you showed him the growing number of beds that were becoming occupied from small wounds to life threatening ones.

He shook his head agreeing with you, “I know I will not change your mind. But please rest when this is all over?”

You bit back the smile. Ever since you met him he had cared for your wellbeing more than you did, “You have my word.”

He gave you a once over with a frown and concern in his own eyes, “Will you also see a healer when you are done?”

“I am fine Legolas.” You persisted shaking your head before heading to the bed next to the man you’d patched up.

He was hot on your heals not believing you for a second, “You are bleeding through your bandages, mellon nin. Please?” Gimli’s words rang through you as he looked at you wish nothing but pain and concern.

“All right.” You weren’t sure what else to say as you looked over him in return. You really should see a healer but your wounds just felt so miniscule compared to the horror you were seeing now.

He eyed you looking for any lie, “I will check on you tonight to see sure of it.”

“I told you that I would, do you not believe me?” A smile rose to your face as you knew your words took him aback.

“You are stubborn. You will work until you collapse. Of course, I trust you. But I do not trust that you will see through to it.” He grinned seeing your expression clock what he was saying, “I will check in on you tonight in your room. How does that sound?” He tried again asking as if it were a question as you knew it was not. Legolas would be checking in on you whether you agreed with him or not.

He was giving you a chance now. You had to take it, “I will see you tonight.”

He gave you a quick bow before making way towards the door, “Please see a healer soon. And rest.”

“I will. Do not fret Legolas. My help is needed first.”

He nodded, “They are fortunate to have you.” He walked off before you could get another word in. You shook your head getting yourself back in the right headspace to see and heal the gruesome wounds left by the attack.

You kept true to your word as your own energy was depleting rapidly. As soon as the bodies stopped flowing in and you became overly exhausted you finally saw another elven healer who pulled the orc poison from your open wounds and patched you up. Legolas was right, a few too many orc blades had made it impossible for your body to heal them as quickly as it usually would.

You had only been settled in your room after bathing and changing for a few moments before a familiar knock rang out at the door. You had been given a room near the kings chambers for the time being as you were the only female in the company. And who were you to turn down such a luxury after months on the road? Certainly not you.

You opened the door to the smiling elf. He quite literally took your breath away. He was so handsome, “Legolas.”

His eyes traced you overlooking for any signs that you had not in fact taken care of yourself, “You look well.”

You moved to the side to let him know it was okay if he wanted to come in, “I am.”

He sighed bringing your eyes to look into his, “I was so worried when I lost you. I had broken my promise to you.”

All you could think to do was grab for his hand. A small sign of comfort as your laced your fingers into his, “It is not your fault Legolas. You know this. We would have both been struck had I not jumped away.” Giving his hand a soft squeeze, you pulled him in through the door. You didn’t want the prying ears of the company or some random elves hearing the conversation if you could stop it. You knew it was getting vulnerable fast. The adrenaline from the battle had long worn off leaving the raw emotion of what just happened to linger.

He looked down at your fingers intertwining his, “I was so afraid that I… I kept looking for you as the battle wore on but could not find you, I feared…” He could not say the words that kept binding on his tongue as it scared him the most. From the moment he laid eyes on you in Rivendell he too felt that pull you had felt so strongly that same day. He’d lived a couple thousand years and had never seen any ellith quite so striking as you. Legolas had been convinced he would never find the elf he was destined to love.

“I am here. I am alive.” You gave his hand another comforting squeeze you just looked at him. He was closer than he’d been before. The air between the two of you felt electrified as you looked up into his eyes. His blue ones met your own. The concern gave way to the happiness of the first part of this hell being over. As Gandalf had said. The Battle of Helm’s Deep was won but the War for Middle Earth had just begun.

His eyes met your smooth hair, fresh out of the baths, “You have no braids in?” He could not recall a time he had not seen braids laced throughout your hair. He had not known you for a long time, but it seemed jarring to see you without them.

You nodded, “You are correct. This is the first time I’ve had a comb since Rivendell.” You paused unsure of if you wanted to ask the next question or not. It was now or never really. Gimli had assured you he had felt the same, why would he lie?

He spoke before you could ask your question, “I must admit, I am envious.” He tried running a hand through his long, usually silky, hair that had been tangled in the battle.

“You can borrow mine.” You offered up without a second thought, “And uh…” You stopped once more having a hard time getting it out. It was now or never. You’d fought that hard for this. Why was it so hard to spit out?

“What is it?” He nodded, encouraging you along.

You closed your eyes, letting out a long breath, trying your hardest to regain some composure. His hand felt like it was burning in your palm as you decided you just needed to spit it out, “Do you… Would you like to braid it?”

Your ears were trained to pick up upon the slight falter in his breath, you’d managed to take him by surprise for once, “Are you sure? Are you asking me what I believe you are to be asking me?” He looked at you with a gentle desperation you had yet to see on his face before.

“Legolas.” You tried stopping him, but he just continued. Spiraling.

“I, of course, would gladly accept but I need to know if these are your intentions. If what you are asking is true.” He looked concerned that you might not be telling him exactly what he was wishing you were saying.

“Legolas!” You pulled your hand away from his before grasping onto his shoulders above you.

He stopped finally hearing you, “Yeah?”

“I like you. Quite a lot. More than a fellowship member probably should. And Gimli might have told me you were driving him a tad mad at all the mentions of me throughout the months.” Your smile grew as you saw his expression drop into shock. You had decided it was fun to surprise the Prince of Mirkwood. His face was the most precious you had seen it yet as it went through the uncommon emotion of being surprised.

“That dreadful dwarf! He promised he would not tell.” For the second time in a short period, you had seen Legolas in a panicked state. Legolas was best with everything under his control. You had often thrown his plans under fire when you came into the picture though. So often before he would be annoyed but he welcomed it with you.

“Him telling me that got me through it all. If he had not told me you had feelings for me I do not think I would have made it out alive. I was fighting for us. For a future with both of us in it. I know exactly what I am asking you for when I asked you to braid my hair.” You spoke freely for the first time in a while. It had been hard keeping the feelings you felt for him locked down and hidden away as you travelled with the fellowship.

He grinned taking your hand in his this time. He led you to the chair at the desk in the room and had you sit. He stood behind you as he brushed his hands through your hair slowly. You tried you best to fight the shiver and chills that erupted at his touch, “I am honored you asked me to braid you hair. If it was not obvious before, I do feel the same. My dwarf friend seemed to want to tell you that before I could.”

You laughed softly relishing in his touch, “We should thank him. Who knew how much longer we would have pined from afar.”

“I do not wish to give him credit. His head will grow too large.” His nimble hands began braiding small intricate braids in your hair. He’d decided he was going to take his time and make the perfect braid he had never had the patience to do before.

Giggles erupted from you at that. Watching Gimli warm up to both you and Legolas to eventually turning into one of your closest companions had been one of the most unexpected twists from the journey, “It does not feel right picking on him when he isn’t here to blow up on one of us. It is not as fun.”

You could see the grin on his face through the reflection in the mirror above you, “Enough about the dwarf. How are you? Truly?”

You closed your eyes thinking about his question, “I am tired and growing more nervous the closer we get.” It was the first time you had admitted it out loud and it felt good getting it off your chest.

He tied an elastic on the last large braid he laid down the center of your hair before letting his hands fall to your shoulders. Just the touch provided a comfort you weren’t sure you could express adequately, “I am keeping my promise. Nothing will happen to you. I will protect you through this. I promise you that.”

You turned your neck to look up towards him, “Thank you. For everything. And the braids.” You ran your hand along his work all too curious to see what it had actually looked like.

He brushed a hand along your cheek, “It is my honor. I should be the one thanking you. You look beautiful as always.”

Relishing in his touch you pushed your face into his hand, “Let’s not tell the rest of them until after this is all over.”

Legolas gave you a hesitant look, “We can try. Gimli will know immediately, and he does not have the quietest tongue.”

“Aye that is true. We shall try then.”

He knelt down to your level so that his eyes were staring right back at you, “Yes we shall. Now come, we must have some dinner and get some rest.” He held his hand out to you after he stood, not giving you another option knowing you would rather just jump into bed and snooze the night away. But Legolas being exactly who he was had made a promise to your father and he would protect you. And now he got the privilege of loving you too. He had no plans of losing this after he had prayed for it for so long.

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[lucy-verse]

In a desperate bid to put Arwen off Aragorn, Elrond talks Thranduil into setting her up with Legolas, hoping to strengthen the alliance between their realms while they’re at it. Thranduil takes Legolas to Rivendell during the summer to spend time with her in the hope that romance might blossom.

At first it all seems to be going to plan. Legolas and Arwen quickly become inseparable, frolicking in the forest together, braiding each other’s hair, whispering and giggling during mealtimes, exchanging flowers, etc. Elrond finds a little poem hidden in the guest chambers about a beautiful being with dark hair and blue eyes. Elladan seems unusually disgruntled, glaring at the two of them from across the room and hovering around Arwen protectively whenever Legolas is around.

When Legolas comes bursting into his chambers one morning, asking for his blessing to wed one of his children, Elrond is over the moon, ‘oh Valar, yes! You have my blessing, you have all my blessings! Of course you can marry Arwen!’

And Legolas just stares at him completely baffled and goes, ‘Arwen? No, no, I’m asking your permission to marry Elrohir! Your daughter and I have been talking about it all summer, she thinks it’s a great idea!’

Bonus:

Thranduil: Didn’t I mention that Legolas has no interest in elleths? Whoops. Probably should have.

Bonus bonus:

Elladan, bursting through the doors: IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN ME!

[inthehouseoffinwe]

Hc that elves of the Third Age might appreciate the deeds of those of the First, but they have little respect for them.

It’s one of those things where you look in history and are like ‘cool.’ But you know if you saw these guys irl you’d punch them in the face.

Like these elves of the Third Age, especially those who stuck around at the beginning of the Fourth, are so done with all the drama, prejudices, and feuds. They were never meant to fight this war, it should’ve been over long before their time. The last generations born in ME can’t believe the First Age elves were so self-centred that they put personal feuds over banding together and taking out Morgoth.

This ties into another hc I have of Thranduil and Elrond being the ones to essentially say ‘that’s enough.’ They actively send elves to each other’s realms to end the division as much as they can. Internally Thranduil bridges the Sindar and Silvan etc, whilst Elrond deals with the ten factions of Noldor and ensures their kids get to play together as they grow up, stopping these 6000 year old arguments leaking into the next generation.

They’ve all lost too much to it.

It really starts with Elladan, Elrohir, and Legolas at the beginning of the Third Age being taught together as often as they can, groups of Sindar and Noldor being sent with them in an exchange of skills and knowledge. And the focus is forever on:

One day Sauron will return. Are we going to make the same mistake our parents did and let him use our divisions against us?

Galadriel gets involved too. She’s grown in wisdom, has lost more than anyone else. She lies as the final authority on the most problematic of elves who bring up the past for no reason but to go back to the ‘old ways.’ She’s older than most, or close enough in age that even those who refuse to listen to these ‘naive young leaders’ (Elrond and Thranduil) have to listen to her.

By the end of the Third Age it’s common for Sindar, Noldor, Silvan, whatever Cirdan’s lot are, and *insert elf kind here*, to have friends amongst each other’s races. To even have friends amongst men or dwarves, or at least respect and civil relations with them. It’s this mindset that brings Sauron to his knees in the end. He has no one to manipulate. No one to cause internal strife. No one to distract from him.

But back to the arrival in Valinor.

These young elves who have friends crossing cultures and races, have mortal friends they’ve lost over the years to orcs and to Sauron and darkness, find themselves *furious* at the First Age elves.

They lived in so much decadence and luxury that this is what they turned to? Wars and Political Drama for the sake of what. Ambition? What ambition is it to drag your people to the slaughterhouse, unprepared with ideas of glory that will never come to pass?

They lived a life of peace and plenty and never appreciated an ounce of it. Doused themselves in gold paint and heavy embroidered silk and jewellery for the sake of a beauty you couldn’t afford to wear in Middle Earth, no matter how much you wanted to. What if something went wrong? How could you outrun orcs if you were restricted by unwieldy fabric and shone like the sun in the dark. Even children knew better.

These elves of the Third Age would have sacrificed lives and limbs to let their families grow up in such safety.

The worst part is finding out there were older elves who made the Great Journey who warned these veritable children for their lack of life experience, of the horrors that awaited. The foolishness of their decisions. But they were ignored and labelled cowards.

To make matters worse, these glory seeking elves couldn’t even finish the job. Instead it fell to elves and men and dwarves and Hobbits, all of whom had no choice in their circumstances, to fix their ancestors mistakes. All because they’d chosen pride over working together to defeat the evil steadily encroaching and covering their safe havens. 600 years of war, and they learned nothing.

Elwë is not except from this. Aside from his own pride and arrogance, Lady Galadriel and Lord Elrond kept their realms safe, but they never turned away a weary traveller. Never hesitated to give aid and shelter to those who crossed their paths even in the darkest of times. Galadriel knows this best of all. She once lived in Doriath, and is right alongside the younger elves, scorning the King’s false shroud of safety, clinging to a past long gone in his heavy cloak and gilded crown.

How easily it all came crumbling down.

So yes. The elves of the Third Age can appreciate the growth and how their elders learned to adapt to the worsening situation. But they will never lose that flame of anger that so many of their friends, so many mortal friends above all who already had firefly lives, were spent and lost to a force they’d never had a choice but to fight to the end.

They will never respect them.

(They do however hold great respect and sympathy for Celebrimbor. It’s easy to be deceived by Sauron. And between him, Gil Galad, and Oropher, they got the closest to unity that they could with their factions of traditional First Agers and the early next generation learning to see past their history.

Celebrimbor and Idril were born in the golden peace of Aman, but grew up in the harsh lands of Middle Earth. They understand the younger elves’ anger more than anyone ever could, and find themselves sharing it. But now they have a voice for that simmering anger. And the Second and Third Age elves have protectors and allies in the older generations.

Glorfindel ofc is always at their back. He spent too much time seeing the little Dunedain Chieftains he helped raise falling far before their time not to feel pure, unadulterated rage at the past. Not to feel guilt and shame with it.)

[leucisticpuffin]

On a summer evening in Rivendell, Elrond's little family are busy designing a sensory-play room for the twins. (If Elrond ends up hiding in there too after stressful councils, no one's going to say anything.)

For Day 5 of @elrondweek (a little late because of absent-mindedness...) Please click on it to see all the details!!

A lot of research went into this painting (and a lot of thought about how you'd crease a multisensory environment in a fantasy world with no electricity for pretty lights and bubble lamps) so here are some notes and headcanons:

Lighting: A number of elves who studied under Feanor later lived in Middle-earth (especially Eregion) and continued making crystal lamps and light-altering gemstones. The crystals in the small jar are a kind which glows for several hours after being “charged” with sunlight. They are used for decoration and in situations where a flame would be impractical or dangerous, e.g. a child-safe nightlight. 

Light projection jars: Glass jars decorated with colours and patterns. When a light crystal is placed in the jar, the colours are projected across the floor or wall. (Elladan and Elrohir are still a little young to be trusted with heavy glass jars, so for now these will be kept in a locked chest and used with adult supervision). 

Fabrics: Samples of cloth with lots of interesting colours and textures for the kids to choose from. Some (like the star cloth Elrohir is admiring) will be draped from the walls or ceiling of the sensory room to create a dark, cosy environment, and others made into blankets, cushions, etc. 

Star cloth: Cloth embroidered with tiny, faintly-glowing gems, resembling the night sky. First created in Valinor by a member of the textiles guild, it was popular among older elves who wanted to remember the skies of Middle-earth. It was expensive and difficult to make, and fell out of fashion when the Noldor left Valinor. The craft was revived in second-age Eregion, and easier methods of making it were developed. 

Toys: Elladan is playing with a painted wooden rain-shaker. Other sensory toys pictured include a colourful spinning top and a set of tactile wooden balls. They’re gathering a collection to keep in the boys’ toy-chest. Elrohir prefers the tactile objects, while Elladan likes any toy that makes a noise.

Room decor: Inspired by Art Nouveau aesthetics. The rug is based on an antique Donegal carpet, and the wallpaper on Arts and Crafts designs. 

Clothing: Inspired by paintings and antique garments: the twins and Celebrian are (loosely) based on paintings by John Singer Sargent and Henry Arnould Olivier, while Elrond’s robes are based on a 1905 House of Worth tea gown.

There are a number of flowers and plants in this painting; their meanings in flower language are as such: 

Bonsai pear tree: comfort

Irises (in the stained-glass window): wisdom

A vase of white lilacs: joy of youth, youthful innocence

Traveller’s joy (in the patterned wallpaper): safety

Primroses (Elladan’s hairpin and the embroidery on the twins’ dresses): early youth

Daisies (Elrohir’s shoes): innocence

Forget-me-nots (Celebrian’s dress): true love

Lily-of-the-valley (Elrond’s hairpin): sweetness, return of happiness

[two-white-butterflies]

★ — cassandra | thranduil

Description: Cassandra: shining upon man, a name bestowed by the mortals that surrounded your husband's kingdom. Being bestowed the gift of foresight, you have seen things in motion - that is until a tragedy happens. One that you did not foresee.

"What is it like to be a prophet? Everywhere Cassandra went she found that she was already there."

Pairing: thranduil/reader. (elrond's daughter)

Genre: angst [major character death]

Warning: I make my own timeline.

There were many things in the darkness that stayed unseen. The darkness plagued your dreams, a tangible darkness that watched in the background beside you as the events unfolded. As a child, the dreams were tame - Elladan breaking your mother's favorite vase or Elrohir scraping his knees while running down the halls.

When you grew older, the dreams turned grim. The tangible darkness that used to watch beside you now became a character of these dreams. It played in your head repeatedly; Greenwood marred by darkness, the elves fleeing to Valinor.

It haunted you.

"My child." Ada places a guiding hand on your shoulder. One of the few elves that shared your burden of foresight. "Darling," he whispered seeing the tears pool on the corners of your eyes.

Despite his gentle nudging, all attempts of reviving you from the drown - the trance does not break. You remain inside your dream. Elrond furrows his eyebrows, sensing fear and sadness in you.

"Does she wake?" Elladan leans on the doorframe.

This has been a common occurrence in the household. When the moon is in clarity, and the members in deep sleep - they get stirred awake by the sound of your tears - by the sound of objects falling from your room. "No," Elrond responds seeing your tight grip on the bedsheet - mumbling curses that he could not fathom.

A sigh escapes the younger twin's mouth.

He takes a step towards the bed, sitting beside the plump pillows that surrounded her body. "You must jump off the boat now," he mumbled, reaching for your clenched fists - opening it slowly. "When the rain comes we'll prepare the barrels, but awaken and enjoy the warmth of the sun." he pleaded.

Out of all the siblings, Elladan admired you the most. His oldest sister who had a gentle disposition and a caring voice. He did not like seeing you in pain; haunted by the inevitable.

Almost instantly, your eyes opened.

Father tries to calm you down but you are haunted. You tried to break free from the haunting, but something prevents you to speak. That tangible darkness that continued to hold you back.

You clawed at your forearm. In disbelief of what's to come.

"Naneth," you managed to whisper out. At the end of the night, you weren't alone in the haunting.

Soon after the prophecy, your father called for all his soldiers to trek the dangerous road that your mother was travelling on. Elladan tried to ask you questions, but there were no words that left your mouth. You tried to speak, tried to open your mouth - but no sound escaped.

'Everywhere Cassandra ran, she found that she was already there.'

A month later, Elladan and Elrohir arrived carrying the shell of your mother. All remnants of self-control leaves your body.

"She'll live. Your father is the greatest healer in all of Arda." your grandsire comforts, you burrow deeper into the sheets.

Celeborn takes a deep breath.

"There are scars that cannot be healed by time." the first time you spoke in months. You turned your body to look at him. Seeing the very same fear, sadness and anger in his eyes.

There were titles bestowed to people with deceased parents. There were titles bestowed to people with deceased lovers. But there were no titles bestowed to those with deceased children, for they shall be title-less and the greatest honors be taken away.

The following day, mother left for the Grey Havens. She left no comforting words or letters, but she kissed your foreheads in the middle of the night and father escorted her to the shores.

"My child," Galadriel smiles warmly, seeing you leaning on the doorframe as she broke her fast with your siblings. "- sit, you must eat." her voice was filled with tenderness.

Then suddenly memories of your mother's imprisonment flash through your eyes - your appetite is ruined for years to come. Galadriel tries to open her mouth again but you run away.

You run away from the dreams that plague your mind.

"Will she be alright?" Arwen inquires. They were used to your terrible dreams, even admired the times that you'd push through with a smile on your face, but this reaction was new to them.

Fleeing and disassociating with reality.

With their mother gone and their oldest sister drowning.

The family was lost too.

Lady Galadriel takes a sip of her tea, watching as her good-son attempts to mask his sorrow. That's what they were all doing, anyways. Hiding their grief because it's much easier than facing the truth, that Celebrian is in the Grey Havens and they are alone.

Alone again.

Alone until they decide to flee; it will be a long time. It will take centuries and thousands of years.

"She must come with me." she breathes.

Elrond's eyebrows merge together. "My daughter must stay here." he argued, not wanting another member of his family to be out of reach.

"She dreamt of her mother. She's seen the atrocities of which Celebrian refuses to speak of - I know that you have experience with this too but her dreams are different, not detached verses of massacres and war but personal deaths. She needs my help, and the love that I bare for her is deep and true. I feel her pain." Galadriel continues. She wanted to protect you. Forever.

"- my daughter was scarred, wounds inflicted upon her soul. I fear that these dreams may happen again, that she may dream of a future that we cannot see - and we'll lose her." she whispered.

Elrond reluctantly agrees with Galadriel's plan.

Your father was right!

Lothlorien filled you with tranquility. A feeling of safety that you've lost to the abyss. It felt like your mother's embrace, caging you and preventing the fall. Lady Galadriel continued monitoring you - keeping the darkness at bay, ensuring that you wouldn't remember your dreams even if they were to happen at night.

Soon after, happiness returned.

One night, while you were sleeping - your dreams were able to seep through the web of your grandmother's enchantment, and you dreamt of an elven-prince.

He was fair in the face, his hair was long and golden. He wore a crown of flowers and his voice was like honey to the ear. His name was Prince Thranduil of Greenwood, and he was to be yours.

(AMON LANC)

"What causes your joy, meleth?" Thranduil wraps his arms around your waist, allowing the moonlight to illuminate your features.

"I remembered something." you hummed, burying your face in his chest. The smell of vanilla and sandalwood invades your nose. You continued inhaling his scent, a scent that reminded you of home. "Pray tell," he whispered - allowing the peace to settle in your chambers. "The birth of our twins," you smiled.

The happiest day of your life. Erynlas and Legolas were born, they were born in the longest summer of Greenwood. Your father told you that it was a good omen, that your children would bring good harvest. The locals of Laketown were quick to send gifts down the river for the elfling, and all was well in Arda.

"I remember your panic-stricken face." you pointed out, he responded with a small chuckle. "I was afraid, but seeing our children brought relief." he admitted.

"We must enjoy it while it lasts. I remember Elladan and Elrohir, they grew up swiftly and my parents were left longing for the days when they were elflings." you continued. "Our children inherited your gentle disposition," he noted.

"- and none of your petulance." you were quick to retort.

"None yet." he smiled, as if knowing something that I didn't.

There was silence between them; the kind of silence that persevered between two people who understood one another.

"You were dreaming, yesterday." he opened his mouth, unable to see your face that was buried in his chest. "Dreaming about what?" you raised an eyebrow, long having forfeited the power of remembering your dreams. "You were mumbling things, kept saying 'no'." he reported, concern was evident in his features.

As much as you tried to remember the dreams, you couldn't.

"Was it your foresight that made you dream such?" he inquired. Your eyebrows merged together, and that familiar tightness on your chest returned. What if something was to happen on your family?

You had to exhaust every possible option to keep them safe. "I-I don't know, but it could've been just a nightmare." you comforted him. You pulled away from his embrace, opting to stare at his face.

"- and if it wasn't then I promise to keep us safe." you promised.

"I promise the same." he vowed, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "- but you must rest, for we shall have an early morning tomorrow." he noted, reminding you that you were about to leave Amon Lanc to escape the darkness that wished to take hold of Greenwood.

You awakened in the middle of the night. Lifting the covers off your body, you frowned, not seeing your husband so you decide to tiptoe towards the children's rooms. A groan escapes your mouth, feeling that horrible headache forming at the back of your head. Could this be? This must be another one of your dreams.

Your husband was telling you about the words that escaped your mouth whilst sleeping. Was the truth about to reveal itself?

You walked through the empty hallways, seeing no guards on their post. Peculiar. Your hands danced through the fabric of the tapestries that littered the walls. Weaves of forests and elves.

Even art created by Thranduil.

You entered the Twins' bedroom, seeing them slumber peacefully in their beds. Erynlas, the heir, inherited your husband's features. Her long flowing locks and piercing blue eyes, a copy of your husband.

Legolas, was the same, although he had your eyes and your demeanor. He was always patient, allowing his sister to play with his toys, not shedding a single tear when she grabs it from his hands.

You pressed a kiss to both of their foreheads.

If this was a dream, then why isn't anything happening?

Have your dreams evolved to find a different form? That tangible darkness wasn't watching or standing beside you. The darkness wasn't in this room. Have you found peace?

You shouldn't have spoken too soon, because a second later a dagger was pressed to her neck. "Look what I've found," the human opened his mouth with a chuckle. They were mercenaries. You've seen that crest before, but you couldn't remember where.

"Idiot, the bounty says that we're supposed to kill the prince." the other man rolled his eyes, but the man holding a dagger to your neck chuckled. "I think this ones an elf, a princess methinks." he took a slice of your neck, allowing little blood to trickle down your nightgown.

This scene has already played before, in your dreams, but you couldn't remember it - you couldn't remember until it's already happened. And wherever you went, you found that you were already there. "I wonder how much they'd pay for her head." he pondered.

"The Lurgburz would give us a fortune, but we were sent here to kill an heir. She is not an heir." the other man responded. You wanted to speak, but the darkness prevents you from raising your voice. 'I am an heir too. Lord Elrond's.' but the visions make you mute.

There were tears spilling out of your eyes. You felt weak. Hopeless against them.

"Then let's kill the prince's heir. Much easier than killing the prince. He's a great warrior, I've heard and if his wife's awake. Won't he be awake too?" the man continued holding the dagger on your neck.

"Which means that we have to make this quick." the other man reached for the dagger in his pockets. "Which one's the heir?" the man stared at you, and he'll forever be haunted by that look in your eyes. Red, wide, in fear.

"No," you mumbled watching as the other man stands in the middle of their cribs. "If you don't tell us then we'll kill them both." he threatened and air runs out of your lungs.

"No," you continued to mumble. They found joy in toying with you. They found joy in threatening a creature that was older than them. The other man lifted Erynlas' blankets, seeing a pink nightgown on her body. "This one's the heir," the other man stated.

"We should kill the boy, a boy is more valuable than a girl." the man surmised, forcing his mortal standards unto your elvish ones. "No, not the boy." you whispered - your subconscious knowing something that your conscious mind didn't.

Your subconscious knew that Legolas was the key to Arda's freedom. That he'd be a part of the Fellowship, and thus, he couldn't die. "She speaks," the other man teased, raising his dagger pointing it on your daughter's neck. And the tangible darkness that used to haunt you, that used to watch beside you, became a guiding hand.

Told you to grab Legolas and run.

The man's grip on you softened, he walked towards your daughter's crib. "No, no...." you mumbled, staring at the room once covered with leaves and little toys that you bought from Laketown.

You reluctantly reach for Legolas in his bed. Lifting him off the mattress while he continued his slumber. The darkness told you that Erynlas was born to die, while your son was born to live.

You walked down the stairs, about to return to your chambers but the darkness stops you from doing that. Instead leading you towards King Oropher's chambers. You open his doors - to your surprise they weren't locked tonight.

King Oropher stirs awake, seeing a figure enter his chambers. "Good morrow?" he paused, thinking that it was his handmaidens that had come to wake him. But once his vision turns back to normal, he realizes that it was you - and he sees the tears in your eyes, lips mumbling words that he could not fathom.

He repeats your name, seeing you sit on the floor - rocking your body back and forth. He was about to speak again, but you prevent him from doing so. "They took the heir." you cried out - unable to even speak like a mother, in fear, forced to speak like your perpetrators.

A/N: Made for my own self-indulgence. Inspired by EP1 of HOTDS2.

[earthlybeam]

Not sure if requests are open but if they are may I make one? I loved the ear teasing from the reader. I was thinking another way of the reader teasing the elves for thier attention but in a much more bold way. Like she wears a shirt that shows a nice view of her cleavage and even goes to grab their arm and hug it making sure to press her breasts on their arm or she would press her breasts to their chest or back. Ty!

I absolutely love the idea! I wasn’t sure which character you wanted, and will continue working on more. I’ll definitely post them as I go. Glorfindel, haldir, lindir, Legolas, Elladan, Elrohir are coming soon. Gil-Galad, Thranduil, Elrond, Celebrimbor versions below (you Female reader)

🏵️𝓖𝓲𝓵-𝓰𝓪𝓵𝓪𝓭

The sun was dipping low over Lindon, casting the sky in soft hues of rose and gold. The sea breeze rolled in, cool against your skin, but you barely noticed as your attention remained fixed on one figure—the High King himself.

Gil-galad stood on the balcony overlooking the Gulf of Lune, his tall frame cloaked in silver blue threads gleaming like stars against the velvet fabric. His dark brown hair caught the fading sunlight, a crown of fire atop his proud head. His expression was as composed as ever—calm, unreadable—but there was always a quiet intensity about him, a gravity that only made him more alluring.

You decided to test that composure. Your steps were soft as you approached, the delicate sound of your shoes against the polished stone barely registering over the distant waves. The neckline of your gown dipped daringly low, offering an inviting glimpse of your curves. With boldness humming beneath your skin, you reached out, sliding your hand around his forearm before pressing yourself lightly against it.

His body tensed beneath your touch, the lean muscle of his arm firm beneath your fingers. You tilted your head slightly, a playful smile dancing on your lips as you leaned closer, allowing your breasts to graze against his arm—a deliberate, teasing touch.

“My lord,” you purred, your voice as smooth as fine wine. “You always seem so serious when you stand here alone. Is the weight of the crown too heavy tonight?” Gil-galad’s head turned slightly, his silver blue gaze sweeping down to meet yours. For a heartbeat, he said nothing, but you felt the subtle shift in his stance—the slight tightening of his jaw, the flicker of something darker in his expression.

“You play a dangerous game,” he murmured, his voice low and rich, sending a shiver down your spine. Yet he made no move to pull away. If anything, the weight of his arm shifted subtly against your chest, deliberate as though testing your resolve.

A bolder spark flared within you, and you stepped closer, your body brushing against his side as you slid your hand higher along his arm. “Perhaps I like danger,” you whispered, allowing your lips to hover just near the curve of his jaw, teasing but not quite touching.

His hand moved with elegant precision—faster than you expected. Strong fingers caught your wrist, pulling you gently but firmly until you were standing directly in front of him. Your chest brushed against his, and the warmth of his body seeped through the thin silk of your gown.

“Do you?” His voice was softer now, but the edge beneath it was unmistakable—an undercurrent of restrained desire. His gaze traced the curve of your lips before lifting back to your eyes, sharp and assessing. “You would provoke your king this way?”

Your heart pounded against your ribs, but you refused to shrink beneath his scrutiny. Instead, you allowed your hands to trail up his chest, savoring the feel of him—solid and warm beneath your palms. “Only because I wonder if my king enjoys being provoked,” you countered, your tone playful but laced with challenge.

A quiet chuckle escaped him—a rare, low sound that made your pulse quicken. “You are bolder than most would dare.” His free hand drifted to the small of your back, his fingers brushing your spine in a touch as light as silk. “Do you think I have not noticed your… efforts?”

His words were intoxicating, a promise of something just beneath the surface. Your confidence flared, and you leaned in fully, your breasts pressing firmly against the hard plane of his chest. “Perhaps I wanted you to notice,” you admitted, your breath warm against his skin.

For a moment, the air between you hummed with tension—thick and electric. Then, with slow deliberation, his hand slid further around your waist, pulling you more firmly against him. “Consider me… intrigued,” he said softly, his lips curving into the faintest of smiles. But beneath the smooth words, there was no mistaking the hunger in his gaze. “But be careful, my bold one. You may find the fire you play with burns hotter than you expect.” And yet, despite the warning, his grip did not loosen—if anything, it tightened, holding you against him as though he had no intention of letting you go.

🍷𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓾𝓲𝓵

The grand halls of the Woodland Realm shimmer in the warm, golden light of the lanterns. The scent of ancient wood and fresh moss lingers in the air as the sound of soft Elven music drifts through the space.

Thranduil stands at the edge of his throne room, his tall, regal frame draped in fine silks and silver-threaded robes. His platinum hair gleams like moonlight as it flows over his shoulders, a sharp contrast to the cold, calculating gaze he directs toward the distant entrance.

He is the picture of unyielding authority—serene, aloof, and untouchable. But you know better. You’ve been testing his patience all evening, and while his face remains unreadable, you sense the tension simmering beneath the surface.

Your attire for the night was no accident—a finely tailored gown cut just low enough to leave little to the imagination. The delicate fabric clings to your curves, and each time you move, the neckline shifts ever so slightly, drawing attention to the swell of your breasts. And if there is one thing you know about Thranduil, it is that despite his cold exterior, he is not immune to temptation—especially when it comes to you.

You glide toward him with deliberate grace, your footsteps soft on the polished stone. When you reach his side, you don’t wait for permission. Instead, you loop your arm through his, pressing yourself against him with just enough pressure to ensure he feels the fullness of your breasts against the firm muscle of his arm.

“Is something troubling you, my lord?” you murmur, your voice smooth and honeyed as you tilt your head up to meet his icy blue eyes. His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly, and though his expression remains impassive, you do not miss the way his gaze flickers downward—brief but telling. For a moment, the air between you thickens, heavy with unspoken tension.

“You are bold tonight,” he replies, his tone smooth and composed, though there is an unmistakable edge to it. His hand twitches at his side as if resisting the urge to touch you, to pull you closer. “I wonder—do you seek to test my patience, or something else entirely?”

A wicked smile curves your lips as you shift closer still, the swell of your breasts brushing against his side with undeniable intention. “Perhaps I merely enjoy your company,” you purr, allowing your fingers to trail along the length of his forearm, feeling the tautness of the sinew beneath his robes. “Is that so wrong?”

He lets out a soft, nearly imperceptible exhale through his nose—a sign that your antics are not going unnoticed. Without a word, he shifts his arm slightly, as if to dislodge you—but instead, his hand brushes against your waist. The heat of his touch lingers through the thin fabric, even as he attempts to maintain his mask of indifference.

When you step in front of him, bolder still, you press your palms gently against his chest, feeling the smooth fabric stretched over the hard planes of his body. “You seem tense, my king,” you tease, tilting your head so that your breath skims over the elegant line of his jaw. “Allow me to ease your burden.”

Thranduil’s fingers flex at his sides, and this time, when his gaze falls to your cleavage, he does not bother to hide it. “Do you truly believe I am so easily swayed?” he asks, but his voice is quieter now—lower, darker.

You lean in, brushing your breasts deliberately against his chest as you reach up to adjust a lock of his platinum hair that has fallen out of place. The simple touch is intimate—too intimate—and the way his eyes flash with something far more primal makes your pulse quicken. “Not easily,” you admit, letting your lips hover just inches from his. “But perhaps… if I try hard enough…”

His restraint snaps, but only slightly. His hand lifts to your jaw, fingers curling under your chin, tilting your face upward. His thumb brushes along your lower lip with a touch that is both possessive and punishingly gentle. “You play a dangerous game,” he warns, but there is no true heat in the words—only a dangerous hunger beneath his cool facade.

“And if I enjoy the danger?” you challenge, your voice barely a whisper between you. For a heartbeat, you wonder if you have pushed him too far. But then, in one smooth motion, he pulls you flush against him, your body molded to his as his other hand slides along the curve of your waist. The press of your breasts against his chest is no longer teasing—it is all-consuming.

“You seek to tempt me,” he murmurs, his breath warm against the shell of your ear. “And you succeed far too easily.” His lips graze your skin in a touch that leaves you breathless, and when he pulls back, his expression is no longer cold—it is fire and ice entwined, smoldering beneath a thin veneer of control.

“You should tread carefully, my bold little temptress,” he continues, fingers tracing the line of your spine. “For once I decide to claim what is mine…” His lips curve into a faint, wicked smile. “I do not let go easily.” And by the gleam in his eyes, you know that tonight, you have awoken something in him—something he will not allow to go unanswered.

📜 𝓔𝓵𝓻𝓸𝓷𝓭

It’s a quiet evening in Rivendell. The fading light of the setting sun casts a golden hue over the polished marble floors and cascading waterfalls. You find Elrond seated in his study—an elegant, spacious room filled with ancient tomes, scrolls, and the lingering scent of aged parchment.

He’s dressed in flowing silver-and-blue robes, his long, dark hair falling in a sleek cascade over his shoulders. His sharp, timeless features are calm and composed as he reads from an intricately bound volume, though the furrow of his brow suggests his mind is deep in thought. You decide to catch his attention—boldly. You wear a shirt cut just low enough to leave little to the imagination, the curve of your cleavage peeking temptingly from the fabric.

The soft silk clings to your form in all the right places. With deliberate grace, you approach him, the gentle sway of your hips as you walk making your intentions clear. Elrond doesn’t glance up immediately, but you notice the subtle pause in the movement of his fingers as he turns a page—he is aware of your presence.

Without a word, you step behind his chair, leaning down slightly until your breasts press softly against his broad back. The warmth of your body seeps through the fine layers of his robes. You let your hands rest on his shoulders, your fingers tracing delicate circles through the fabric.

“Elrond,” you murmur, your voice soft, sultry—just for him. “You’ve been working far too long. Don’t you think it’s time for a distraction?”At your touch, his shoulders tense for the briefest of moments—a flicker of restrained reaction beneath his composed façade—but then, his posture relaxes beneath your hands.

He turns his head slightly, and when his gaze meets yours, his grey-blue eyes are darker than usual, as though stirred by a rising storm. “You are bold tonight, meleth nín,” he says, his voice smooth and deep, laced with something heavier beneath his usual calm. “Do you seek to test my resolve?”

Without answering, you move around the chair, standing before him. Before he can return to his book, you lower yourself onto the edge of his desk. The movement draws his eyes downward—he cannot ignore the teasing glimpse of your cleavage as you lean forward, intentionally brushing against his arm when you reach out to touch his hand.

His hand remains still beneath yours, but the heat radiating from his skin is undeniable. With deliberate slowness, you slide your fingers up his forearm, savoring the feel of the strength hidden beneath the silk. You pull his hand gently toward you, guiding it to rest on your thigh as you lean closer, your breasts brushing lightly against his chest. “Elrond,” you whisper again, your lips tantalizingly close to his ear. “I am only as bold as you allow me to be. Have I gone too far?”

His breath hitches—just for a moment—and his fingers flex against your thigh, betraying his composure. But when he speaks, his voice is low and measured.“You know well that you walk a fine line,” he replies, his hand remaining on your thigh, firm and warm. “Do you seek to unravel my restraint, ind-nîn?”

Your boldness only grows. You shift forward slightly, closing the remaining space between your bodies until your breasts are pressed fully against his chest. You tilt your head, brushing your lips along the edge of his jaw—a teasing, feather-light touch.

“And if I am?” you challenge softly. For a heartbeat, Elrond remains still—calculating, controlled. But then, his hand tightens ever so slightly on your thigh, his other hand rising to brush against your waist. His thumb traces a slow, deliberate path along your side, igniting a warmth that spreads through you.

His expression remains composed, but there is a glint of something far more primal in his eyes as he speaks, his voice just above a whisper. “Then you shall learn, meleth nín,” he murmurs, tilting his head so that his lips hover just above yours, “that even my patience has its limits.”

And with those words, his hand slides higher, his touch burning through the thin fabric between you. Though his restraint holds—for now—you can feel the weight of his desire hanging heavy in the air between you, and you know that it would take very little to make him abandon all pretense of composure.

💍𝓒𝓮𝓵𝓮𝓫𝓻𝓲𝓶𝓫𝓸𝓻

The forge hummed softly in the background, the air warm and laced with the faint scent of molten metal and polished wood. Celebrimbor stood at his workbench, his mithril hammer resting lightly in his hand as he inspected a delicate circlet—a new design, intricate and shining beneath the light. His focus was razor-sharp, as it always was when he worked, the smooth lines of his face set with intense concentration.

But then—you entered. The gentle click of your heels across the stone floor made his pointed ears twitch slightly, but he did not immediately turn. It wasn’t until you were close—very close—that he faltered. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the soft shimmer of your shirt—cut low enough to reveal a teasing glimpse of your cleavage. The smooth curve of your skin stood out against the dark fabric, and the way it hugged your figure was… impossible to ignore.

He swallowed hard, but his fingers, usually so steady, tensed. “Celebrimbor,” you murmured, your voice low and warm, laced with playful mischief. Before he could respond, you reached for him—delicate fingers wrapping around his forearm. You pressed yourself against him, the soft swell of your breasts molding against his lean, muscular arm as you held him close.

The tension in his body spiked—he stiffened beneath your touch, though not from discomfort. No, the slight hitch in his breath betrayed him. His pale skin, always so serene, bloomed with a faint flush across his high cheekbones. Still, his voice remained steady—barely .“What… are you doing?” he asked, his tone caught between genuine curiosity and a tremor of restraint.

You smiled—sweet, bold, unrepentant. “Just making sure you aren’t working yourself too hard,” you purred, leaning in until your lips were dangerously close to the pointed curve of his ear. “It would be such a shame if you neglected anything important.”

The hand holding his arm slid a fraction lower, brushing against the warmth of his skin through the thin sleeve. You shifted your stance slightly—just enough to press your chest more firmly against him. Your softness contrasted with the toned lines of his body, and for a heartbeat, you felt his muscles flex beneath your touch.

His jaw tightened as if he were trying to maintain control, but his free hand—usually so precise—curled into a fist by his side. “You’re… distracting,” he admitted, a rare vulnerability slipping through his usually composed façade.

Satisfied, you tilted your head and let your lips graze softly along his jawline—just a whisper of a touch that sent a shiver rippling through him. The sensation clearly rattled him; his perfect composure cracked ever so slightly.

“I should stop, then,” you teased, loosening your hold as though to pull away—but his reaction was immediate. “No,” he said—quieter, rougher than you expected. His hand moved at last, firm fingers curling delicately but possessively around your wrist. “Stay.”

His eyes, usually so distant in their focus, burned when they finally met yours—light gray but stormy now, clouded with something deeper. For a moment, all the walls he so carefully maintained crumbled under the weight of his desire.

You pressed your advantage, moving in front of him and sliding your arms around his waist—this time resting your chest against his. The heat of his body was intoxicating, the tension humming beneath his skin palpable. His breath came faster now, his heart hammering beneath your touch.

“Do you always let distractions linger this long, my lord?” you asked, your lips curling into a wicked smile. His lips parted as though to answer—but instead, he surprised you. Slowly—hesitantly—he dropped his mithril hammer onto the workbench behind him and brought both hands to your waist. His touch was firm, but reverent, as though he was still trying to convince himself this was real.

“I’ve never had a distraction quite like you,” he confessed softly, the words carrying a weight you hadn’t anticipated. And when you shifted again—pressing your body fully against his chest—you swore you felt his hold tighten, his self-control hanging by a frayed thread.

Whatever pride or restraint usually held him back was slipping away. And, judging by the way his hands lingered—fingers brushing just beneath the hem of your shirt—he wasn’t eager to regain it.

[tanoraqui]

now that this fic is all published, I can ramble about the things that happen afterward in the timeline! Feel SO free to ask about anything you want more details of.

First off, all three posts about Dave the Balrog are 100% canon to this au, except for where they sometimes contradict the fic's worldbuilding or plot bc I hadn't settled on every detail yet. Also, Dave’s name is probably more like “Drav”, from the Sindarin “drava-”, “to hew.”

That happens much later, though - about 1980 TA. FIRST, immediately, as Celebrimbor says: it's time to save the orcs!

That is, wildly self-indulgent crossover with @ceescedasticity's fic(verse) elves, once, which isn't 100% my headcanon for orcs but it's essentially canon for this au because it makes everything VERY FUNNY in a tragic irony way. I've thought about this so much that it really deserves its own bullet-point post, but highlights include:

- Annatar attempts to conceal the fact that Curufin and Celegorm are orcs, and, y'know, have been since they died. This works until Celebrimbor identifies a bunch of the orc army's weapons as made by his father, even if the style is strange and fell, and the two of the have a HUGE fight in front of representatives of every Elvish kingdom in Middle Earth and most of an army of orcs.

- Bellow/Turgon is having the single strangest, most uncomfortable road trip of his life, and he counts the crossing of the Helcaraxë in that total.

- Turgon tries to convince Galadriel to take Celebrían and Elrond and get out of here, because inevitably this must be a cruel trick and all the orcs will be forced to turn on all the Elves. Galadriel is like, "Honestly, I've been watching Celebrimbor's slow corruption and Sauron's slower un-corruption for about 2,000 years now, and I think we actually have a shot at this. Also, bold of you to assume you can beat me in a fight."

- Curufin and Celegorm had BOOKED IT when Annatar's summoning-compulsion snapped, on the reasonable assumption that any plan the Dark Lord had for them + Celebrimbor could only be cruel to the extreme...so Celebrimbor and Annatar go on a bonus road trip to retrieve them.

- Everyone meets up by the Sea again, but instead of taking (or, obeying) the offer of escape into Ulmo's hands, Turgon and probably a bunch of other orcs volunteer to come help break the Crucible. They Deserve This.

- In the end, as usual, the day is ultimately saved - as are the souls of thousands of trapped elves - by the power of love and overwhelming violence.

AND THEN...

Celebrimbor & Annatar don't actually rebuild Ost-in-Edhil and Eregion as they were. Those days are over, and also the surviving Númenoreans kinda...regard Annatar as Absolute Evil, for some mysterious reason. And those who knew about the whole or even partial conspiracy - namely Tar-Miriel herself - aren't too keen on Celebrimbor, either.

They leave whoever wants to stay and rebuild in Eregion, leadership tbd based on the traditional system of craft-based meritocracy, and take a few decades off to lay low from geopolitics, work on their marriage, and for Celebrimbor to learn a little bit of necromancy so he can manipulate his own fëa and hröa, thank you very much.

They stay with the Witch-Queen of Calador for a while, discreetly because officially that kingdom is also not on good terms with its “former” evil-ish overlord. (The Witch-Queen of Calador and her not really sane, almost certainly unsafe, but arguably consensual relationship with Annatar really deserves her own post, too. She’s my favorite OC of this au. She really loves bats.)

Elrond & Celebrían get married! Elrond always knew his wedding would have to involve stopping drunken brawls from erupting between people who love him but hate each other, but he’d assumed it’d be Iathrim and Fëanorians, not an elderly Queen Miriel going for Annatar’s eyes with a butter knife.

Annatar regards the birth of Elrohir and Elladan with some concern, this alarming lineage now augmented by the blood of Arafinwë (cut off Melkor’s foot) and Galadriel (Melian’s pupil, hates him). But that’s nothing to how freaked out he is by Arwen, who is such an obvious Reprise of Lúthien that it’s now CLEAR that this was all a Melian scheme to assault him, personally.

He can’t just kill her now—Elrond and Galadriel and both right here, not to mention Celebrimbor. And then she’d absolutely be his enemy when she Returned… No, the only solution is to stay in Imladris for a while and become her most beloved uncle whom she would not dream of assaulting, whom she could not bring herself to injure even if circumstance and conscience forced her hand. Love has ever been the undoing of Melian’s line. The Reprise is obvious, but not so established that he cannot twist it into irony, Lúthien’s heir as his devoted student and companion rather than foe.

[smash cut to late 3rd Age Annatar watching the Music settle into place as Arwen interacts with the newest, currently toddling scion of the House of Elendil and nearly killing the child right then because no, no, thats not how this was supposed to Reprise—that’s his jewel of an elf-queen, Singer and trade-manipulator and niece, and he’s going to lose her forever? Killing the brat won’t even work, that would only make her follow him sooner, one way or another—]

Celebrimbor doesn’t want to build a city (and have his heart broken by the loss of the city) again, but he very much does want to ImproveThe World, and also to Make Things With His Hands. So he and Annatar, and whoever of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain wish to join them, set about… “Traveling�� is too loose a term; just because they’re not city-building doesn’t mean anyone here wants to live on the road. They need workshops, forges, and ideally a maia-sized cat tree tall tower from which to survey their domain. They are a highly skilled work crew/technical, artistic & management consultants who change cities every 5-200 years, throughout Middle Earth and perhaps even other continents.

This what Celebrimbor and Annatar do, for most of the rest of their time in Middle Earth. A few of the Mírdain travel with them all the time. Others strike out on their own, or in similar small groups. Others stay in rebuilt Ost-in-Edhil, or Rivendell or the Havens or another Elvish kingdom, and come lend a hand when their particular talents are called for. Everyone who “died” in Númenor and was “resuscitated” by Annatar walked away with a strengthened, basically permanent osanwë connection to the simulated workshop group chat, which they’re aware of, and a location tracker and fëa-stamp saying “PROPERTY OF MAIRON, FUCK AROUND AND YOU WILL FIND OUT” which only an Ainu could detect.

They're the mysterious stranger(s) who accept an offer of hospitality on a stormy night and reward you with a magic ring that blesses your farm with fecundity. They arrive in a city in the middle of a cholera outbreak and inform the local rulers that they're here to overhaul the whole wells & sewers system in exchange for room and board; no, the local rulers do not get a choice in this. One time they do oust an evil ruling dynasty and just kinda take over the kingdom for a few centuries, but then Celebrimbor starts to get paranoid of his own growing attachment so Annatar reluctantly agrees to find and raise some honorable candidate for kingship [gender-neutral]. One of the Mírdain with them says, what about the choice of the people? And then after a lot of discussion, partly in collaboration with their local Men, they write up and seal with Power a Constitution that establishes an oversight body of political, economic, craft and etc. experts to oversee and have veto power over popular elections to kingship from a slate of candidates chosen by the current/soon-to-be previous king, on a strict thirty-year schedule. There, that should stabilize the whole messy business of mortal succession!

Also, 1300 years or so into the Third Age when this version of Gondor hits its equivalent of the Kin-Strife, Annatar takes advantage of its weakness to initiate a plan he's been contemplating for a while, especially while gaining local insight into a variety of nation-states and their management, and returns to Oroduin to forge what may he his last Great Work...a new standard of currency.

It’s called, in the common tongue developing from Adúnaic and Sindarin, the “mira”, pl. “miran”, from Quenya “mírë” (“jewel, precious thing). Where pettier currencies are based in gold or silver or the might of some particular empire, these hold value Because a Great Maia Said So—indeed, Sang So, Sang a new line into the Great Music that these coins would always have a value of…whatever he said so, if he updated a petty lyric or two of their Song. Those who use the coins don’t need to know this; they simply intuit, with coins in hand, what they are worth.

(You can lead even the mightiest empire by the nose if you control the price of grain alone, much less other commodities, or one currency relative to another. Each minute adjustment takes Power, especially to shift the natural balance of multiple interlocking goods…but Annatar is a master of the perfectly placed lever with which to shift the world.)

Maybe at some point the Valar are like, “okay, I think they don’t irrationally hate us anymore, I think this could work” and send a small group of Maiar to openly, humbly approach Annatar and Celebrimbor and ask if they might be apprentices in the craft of…whatever the fuck is happening here. Or maybe something adjacent, because Pallandro and Alatar would really like to fuck off into those excellent looking woods and hunt the remnants of Ungoliant’s spawn, and Radagast actually wandered away 5 minutes ago to talk to a bird. He’s gonna be a while. But Curumo and Olórin are listening politely!

…Or maybe not. Maybe it’s just the Jewelsmiths, slowly becoming folklore, bettering the world (and manipulating wide-scale economics) one stone at a time. (They’d still be the “Jewelsmiths” anyway, even if they included those who, in another universe, were called “The Wise.”)

As stated in the third Dave the Balrog post, they do Sail eventually, several centuries after Arwen’s death. Celebrimbor just gets tired, and Annatar can’t fix it. Ossë spends the whole voyage backstroking next to their ship and sarcastically quoting Annatar back at himself, Years of the Trees insults about being made weak and pathetic by love, until Annatar nearly lunges over the side as a wolf to tear his throat out.

[riding-with-the-wild-hunt]

"In 2509 Celebrían wife of Elrond was journeying to Lórien when she was waylaid in the Redhorn Pass, and her escort being scattered by the sudden assault of the Orcs, she was seized and carried off. She was pursued and rescued by Elladan and Elrohir, but not before she had suffered torment and received a poisoned wound. She was brought back to Imladris, and though healed in body by Elrond, lost all delight in Middle-earth, and the next year went to the Havens and passed over Sea." - J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King, "Appendix A: Eriador, Arnor, and the Heirs of Isildur"

@arafinwean-week day 6 ⇢ CELEBRÍAN; VALINOR & RE-EMBODIMENT, LEGACY

[ID: an edit comprised of six posters in shades of soft grey. All text is white.

1: Michele Opiyo, a kenyan model with dark skin and close-cropped dark hair. She is shown from the shoulders up against a pale background, smiling with her eyes closed and her head turned slightly to the side. She wears a silver necklace and earrings. White cursive text in the center of the image reads "Celebrían," with smaller serif text below reading "silver queen" / 2: Bare trees with white bark. Cursive text at the bottom of the image reads "Princess of Lothlórien," with serif text beneath reading "Born S.A. 300" / 3: A simple family tree on a grey background, showing Celebrían, her husband Elrond, and their children Elladan, Elrohir, and Arwen. Cursive text above the graphic reads "Mother & Wife," and below it is a rectangular image of small white flowers / 4: Michele Opiyo, shown from the shoulders down with her back to the viewer. She is wearing white clothes and has one hand on her back. Same text as Image 1 / 5: Michele Opiyo, shown from the front with her head turned to the right and a neutral expression. She wears different silvery jewelry. Same text as Images 1 and 4 / 6: Same format as Image 2, but the picture is of birds standing in the shallows of a lake with forested banks. Text reads "Suffered torment," and underneath "Sailed T.A. 2510" //End ID]

[doodle-pops]

Y/N: "I can handle you, but I'm not talking about a fight." I need the reactions to this, for the elves 😏🤭

Cocky smirk, full of themselves

— Feanor, Celegorm, Curufin, Fingon, Maeglin, Glorfindel, Egalmoth, Elladan

Intrigued but tests you to see if your words were true

— Maedhros, Caranthir, Amrod, Amras, Celebrimbor, Argon, Elrohir, Galdor, Erestor

Moment of surprise before a dark chuckle

— Maglor, Fingolfin, Turgon, Ecthelion, Thingol, Beleg, Gil-Galad, Elrond

Knows exactly what you mean and makes sure you do too

— Finrod, Finarfin, Angrod, Aegnor, Rog, Gwindor

[elfy-elf-imagines]

▹ Masterlist .ೃ࿐

☾ Prompt List | Askbox ☽

Legolas:

- Elven Instinct - Lost in the Labyrinth of My Mind - Epiphany - Courting a Human (Headcanons) - Fear of the Future - Adventurer from Earth (Headcanons) - First Kiss 

Maedhros: 

- Out of the Woods - Don’t Leave Me - Don’t Care If You Leave - Stop Pretending - Jealous - Light in the Dark - Jealous Headcanons

Finrod:

- I’m pregnant - You Come and Wake Me Up at 4am, To Cuddle - Finrod x Pregnant!reader (Headcanons) - Used to Be Mine | Part 2  - Choose Me

Thranduil: 

- Tolerate It - To Meet Under the Stars - In the Fields of Poppy - Same Spirit, Different Body - Too Late - Begin Again

Meludir:

- Don’t Cry - Small Surprises  - You Wake Me Up to Cuddle

Elladan:

- Champagne Problems | Part 2

 Glorfindel: 

- Lovely to be Rained on with You - Is that my Shirt? (Drabble) - Not so Hopeless (Drabble) - You’re Mine and I Don’t Share (Drabble) - To Lose is to Die

Haldir:

 - Please Don’t Cry. I Can’t Stand to See You Cry (Drabble) - Stop Biting that Fucking Lip (Drabble) - Meeting Haldir (Headcanons) - Rewrite the Stars 

Lindir: 

- Being in Love (Headcanons) - The Fickleness of Mortals - Return to Me | Part 2

Orophin:

- General Headcanons - Bite Me - Cruel Summer 

Erestor: 

- High Fever