#elves of Rivendell

[earthlybeam]

Elves how would they react to their human s/o being so…human with their ‘odd quirks’ by elven standards

how would the elves react to this?

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Lindir, Erestor, Glrofindel Versions are below.

🎶 𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓭𝓲𝓻

Lindir would react to the human quirks

Friendship bracelets

♫ Lindir’s reaction would be a perfect mix of mortification, confusion, and begrudging affection. When you first present the “friendship bracelets,” his reserved nature compels him to smile politely, though he’s already slightly wary of your mischievous grin.

♫ “That’s very kind of you—” he begins, only to freeze the moment he hears the sharp click of the metal cuffs locking into place. His brows shoot up in alarm as he realizes you’ve essentially tethered the two of you together. His eyes dart to the cuffs, then back to you, his face flushing a delicate pink as he tries to process what just happened.

♫ “W-what is the meaning of this?” he stammers, pulling gently at the chain to test its strength. His voice is calm, but you can hear the flustered edge creeping in. “Surely… this is not customary for friendship bracelets?”Despite his strict adherence to decorum, Lindir can’t bring himself to scold you too harshly. Instead, he sighs deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You do realize this complicates my duties, don’t you? I can hardly assist Lord Elrond while…” He gestures helplessly at the cuffs.

♫ When you burst into laughter, clearly delighted by his flustered state, he softens despite himself. His lips twitch into a reluctant smile as he murmurs, “You’re impossible, meleth… But I suppose I’m doomed to endure your whims, aren’t I?” Though exasperated, his affection for you shines through as he quietly resolves to tolerate the situation—at least until you decide to release him.

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You Burning your tongue on food even though you just said, “This is too hot.”

♫ Lindir, ever the voice of caution and reason, had already warned you. “It’s too hot, meleth,” he said gently, watching you cradle the steaming bowl in your hands. He had even gone so far as to blow on his own spoonful of soup to demonstrate the proper patience. Yet, despite his warning, you boldly took a sip, only to immediately hiss in pain and drop the spoon back into the bowl.

♫ His head snapped up, his gray eyes wide with alarm, and then narrowed in exasperation as you fanned your mouth frantically. “I just told you it was too hot,” he sighed, setting his spoon down with a soft clink and reaching for a nearby goblet of water.

♫ “Why do you never listen to me?” he muttered under his breath, though there was no real venom in his tone. Approaching with a cloth and the water, he gently handed you the goblet, his slender fingers brushing yours. “Here. Sip slowly, or you’ll only make it worse.”

♫ Despite his outward composure, you could see the faint twitch at the corners of his mouth, a subtle indication of his amusement. Lindir was too proper to outright laugh, but there was no denying the faint sparkle in his eyes as he watched you wince and wave your hands around dramatically.

♫ “You’re impossible,” he murmured, shaking his head as he returned to his seat. But as he picked up his harp to softly pluck a soothing melody, you could tell he wasn’t truly annoyed—just endlessly, fondly exasperated.

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You Laughing so hard you start hiccupping or snorting as if some sort of animal (pig) or dying animal).

♫ Lindir’s initial reaction to your outburst of laughter is one of startled confusion. You had been recounting something amusing, and at first, he simply smiled in polite amusement, his slender fingers resting on the edge of the table. But when your laughter escalated into an uncontrollable fit of snorts and hiccups, sounding eerily like a distressed animal, his calm demeanor wavered.

♫ His deep brown amber eyes widened, and his harp—previously perched gracefully on his lap—tilted precariously as he froze mid-strum. “Are you… are you quite alright?” he asked, his voice tinged with genuine concern but also a hint of disbelief as the sounds continued to escape you.

♫ When you doubled over, clutching your sides, tears streaming down your face as the noises grew even more ridiculous, Lindir’s brows knit together in sheer bewilderment. He looked around, as though someone else might appear to offer an explanation for this bizarre turn of events.

♫ “Truly, meleth, should I fetch a healer?” he asked, half-rising from his chair, though the faint quirk of his lips betrayed that he was holding back a smile. He tried to maintain his composure, brushing his brown hair back with a practiced gesture, but the absurdity of the moment chipped away at his control.

♫ As your hiccups and snorts reached their peak, Lindir finally let out a soft chuckle, covering his mouth with one hand in a futile attempt to stifle it. “I— I cannot believe such sounds are coming from you,” he admitted, his cheeks tinged pink with poorly suppressed laughter.

♫ When you hiccupped again, letting out a particularly loud snort, his laughter slipped free entirely. It was quiet and melodic, the kind of laugh that only those closest to him ever heard. “You’re utterly ridiculous,” he murmured fondly, shaking his head as he reached for a goblet of water to offer you. “And yet, somehow, I find I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

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You Forgetting why you walked into a room.

♫ Lindir stood in the middle of the room, his hands clasped neatly behind his back, watching you curiously as you stepped in with an air of purpose. At first, he waited in silence, certain you were about to request something or share an important thought. But instead of speaking, you paused mid-step, your expression twisting into one of utter confusion. “Is something the matter?” he asked, his voice calm but laced with curiosity.

♫ You frowned, glancing around the room as though the walls themselves might remind you why you had come. “I… I don’t remember,” you admitted, rubbing your forehead. “I know I came in here for something, but—”

♫ lindir blinked, a subtle crease forming between his brows. “You don’t remember?” he repeated, his tone hovering between disbelief and faint amusement. He crossed his arms and tilted his head slightly, silver hair shimmering as it caught the light. “And yet you stormed in here with such determination.”

♫ You sighed, clearly frustrated, pacing back and forth as you tried to jog your memory. Lindir observed you in silence for a moment, his lips twitching with the faintest hint of a smile. “Perhaps retracing your steps might help?” he offered, gesturing toward the door with a graceful hand.

♫ When you groaned in defeat and muttered something about your own forgetfulness, Lindir let out a soft, musical chuckle. “You truly are a puzzle sometimes, meleth,” he said, his deep brown amber eyes glinting with gentle amusement. “Should I start taking notes whenever you leave a room, so we might avoid this predicament in the future?”

♫ Though his words were teasing, there was no malice in them. Instead, he stepped forward, his movements elegant and unhurried, and placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Take your time,” he murmured. “It will come back to you. Until then, I’m here if you need anything.” The soft warmth of his voice was enough to ease your frustration, and as you looked at him, his serene expression made you forget why you were flustered in the first place.

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You Flipping the pillow to the “cool side” before settling in.

♫ Lindir watched from the doorway as you shifted restlessly in your bed, sighing softly every time you adjusted your pillow. His sharp elven senses noted the faint huff of frustration you let out before flipping your pillow over with a determined gesture. Settling in briefly, you moved again moments later, clearly unsatisfied.

♫ “Is everything all right?” Lindir asked gently, stepping into the room, his voice as soft as the breeze rustling through Rivendell’s trees. He tilted his head, his silver hair falling over one shoulder as he regarded you with quiet concern.

♫ You turned to him, sheepishly clutching the edge of your pillow. “It’s too warm,” you admitted, flipping the pillow once more. “I’m trying to find the cool side.” Lindir’s lips quirked in a subtle, knowing smile. “Ah, the elusive cool side,” he remarked, his tone laced with a trace of dry humor. “A noble quest indeed.” He walked closer, his movements graceful and fluid, and without hesitation, took the pillow from your hands.

♫ Before you could protest, Lindir held the pillow delicately and gave it a light shake, as though redistributing the heat and fluff with the expertise of someone who excelled at perfection in even the smallest of tasks. “Here,” he said, placing it back down with care. “That should suffice… for now.”

♫ When you settled your head back on it, sighing in satisfaction as the coolness touched your skin, Lindir allowed himself a rare, soft chuckle. “I did not think pillow maintenance would fall under my duties, but I am glad to assist,” he teased lightly, his deep brown amber eyes warm.

♫ As he turned to leave, he paused at the door. “If it grows warm again, simply call for me. Though I fear even my skills may not rival the ever-warming pillow,” he said with a small bow, his tone both playful and affectionate.

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📚𝓔𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓸𝓻

Erestor, would react to the human quirks

Friendship bracelets

✎ Erestor would freeze mid-sentence, his expression shifting from mild surprise to utter disbelief as the cold metal of the cuffs snapped around his wrist. He’d glance down at the offending handcuffs, then at you, his dark brows furrowing in what could only be described as a mix of indignation and exasperation. His voice, calm but laced with cutting sarcasm, would finally break the silence “I see. So this is what constitutes a ‘friendship bracelet’ in your mind. How charmingly… barbaric.”

✎ He’d tug at the chain experimentally, his sharp gaze narrowing as he tested its strength. With a long sigh, he’d look you dead in the eye. “I assume you have a key—please tell me this little display of ingenuity is not permanent. Or, Valar forbid, that you lost it.”

✎ As you sheepishly laugh or shrug, he’d pinch the bridge of his nose and mutter something in Sindarin that you’re sure was not flattering. Leading you to the nearest smith or locksmith, he’d continue with his acerbic commentary “In all my centuries, I have never been shackled to someone over their idea of… camaraderie. Truly, you innovate the absurd.” But later, when no one was around, he might smirk—just a little.

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You Burning their tongue on food even though they just said, “This is too hot.”

✎ Erestor would pause mid-meal, fork in hand, watching you with the kind of incredulity reserved for someone who had just ignored the most obvious piece of advice ever given. His dark eyes would narrow as he observed you yelp and fan your mouth, clearly regretting your decision. Slowly, deliberately, he would set down his fork, fold his hands in front of him, and speak in a voice dripping with dry sarcasm.

✎ “Ah, yes. Truly an act of unparalleled wisdom. I believe I just warned you it was too hot, but clearly, the idea of restraint was far too mundane for you to entertain.” As you struggle to soothe your burning tongue, he’d continue, tone even but with a faintly amused glint in his eye “Tell me, does this serve as a lesson? Or shall I expect a repeat performance with the next scalding dish you encounter? Perhaps you find the sensation thrilling?”

✎ He’d let the moment hang in the air for a beat before sighing and begrudgingly reaching for a nearby carafe of cool water. Passing it to you with a slight roll of his eyes, he’d mutter under his breath “One wonders how you’ve survived this long.”

✎ Later, he’d likely tease you about it, slipping in a pointed remark at the next meal “Do let me know if you require further warnings about basic temperature regulations.” Yet, despite his sardonic tone, there would be a faint trace of affection in the way he noticed and tended to you.

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You Laughing so hard you start hiccupping or snorting as if some sort of animal (pig) or dying animal).

✎ Erestor would freeze the moment the first snort escaped your lips, his quill hovering above a document as his sharp, calculating mind tried to process the utterly undignified sound emanating from you. His head would tilt slightly, his dark brows lifting in a mixture of disbelief and mild horror as your laughter escalated into a symphony of hiccups and animal-like snorts.

✎ For a moment, he’d simply observe you, his expression unreadable except for the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth, which might have been the ghost of a smirk—or a grimace. Finally, when the cacophony showed no sign of subsiding, he’d clear his throat pointedly, his voice low and dry “I was unaware we had invited a wild boar into the library. Should I summon someone to escort it back to the woods?”

✎ If your laughter continued despite his remark, he’d lean back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose as though physically pained by your antics. With a long-suffering sigh, he’d add, “Do try to compose yourself. The acoustics in here are far too good for… whatever it is you’re attempting to imitate.”

✎ And yet, if you looked closely, you might catch a flicker of amusement in his eyes, a subtle glimmer betraying that, for all his grumbling, he found your uncontrollable mirth oddly endearing—though he’d rather endure orcish poetry than admit it. Later, when the hiccupping had finally ceased, he’d offer a cup of water, his tone softer but no less sardonic “Here. Perhaps this will calm the… whatever affliction has overtaken you. Though I fear the damage to my ears may be permanent.”

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You Forgetting why you walked into a room.

✎ Erestor would glance up from whatever meticulous task he was engaged in as you entered the room with purpose—only to immediately pause, looking around with a vaguely bewildered expression. He’d observe you in silence for a moment, his sharp gaze narrowing as you stood there, seemingly lost in thought.

✎ Finally, with a soft sigh that carried the weight of centuries of patience being tested, he’d set aside his quill or book and ask in his ever-dry tone “I assume there’s a reason for your abrupt entrance. Or have you taken up the fascinating pastime of aimless wandering?”

✎ When you sheepishly admit that you’ve completely forgotten why you came in, Erestor would lean back slightly, folding his arms as his lips pressed into a thin line. His expression would be the very picture of someone questioning how he ended up surrounded by such creatures. After a beat of silence, he’d deliver his verdict with biting precision “Ah, of course. A grand entrance with no follow-through—how very… fitting. Perhaps you intended to bring me some urgent news, but alas, the thought appears to have fled faster than a startled deer.”

✎ If you attempted to jog your memory by awkwardly looking around the room, he’d arch an elegant brow and add, “By all means, take your time. I’m certain the reason will eventually reveal itself, assuming it wasn’t as trivial as, say, needing a quill or borrowing parchment.”

✎ But despite his sardonic commentary, if he cared for you, there’d be a faint glimmer of amusement in his tone, almost as if he found your forgetfulness endearing in its absurdity. When you finally give up and leave, he might shake his head with the faintest hint of a smirk and murmur under his breath “It’s a wonder they manage to find their way home at all.”

✎ Later, he’d likely mention the incident again with dry humor, slipping it into conversation with a knowing look “Next time, perhaps you should carry a notebook. It seems your thoughts have a habit of eluding you.”

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You Flipping the pillow to the “cool side” before settling in.

✎ Erestor would glance over with a slight arch of his brow as you perform the seemingly mundane yet oddly meticulous task of flipping your pillow to the “cool side” before settling in. He would observe for a moment, his expression betraying little emotion, though his mind might be processing a brief moment of what now?

✎ After a beat of silence, he’d sigh—so quietly that it was more a subtle exhalation than a true sound—and mutter under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear “Is this truly necessary? You do realize that flipping the pillow has no bearing on the quality of your rest, correct?”

✎ He would then watch you settle, arms crossed, his sharp gaze never quite leaving you. His mind, always calculating, might briefly wonder how such trivial habits formed, though his face remains impassive. After another beat, as you get comfortable, he’d allow the silence to stretch before dryly adding “I suppose, in the grand scheme of things, it’s a rather innocuous ritual, though hardly a solution to any deeper unrest.”

✎ Erestor, the master of routine, could appreciate the appeal of order and comfort, but the futility of such small actions—especially if repeated—was more than a little irksome to his logical sensibilities. Yet, despite his dry commentary, there was a strange comfort in the quiet ritual. He’d never say it aloud, of course, but he’d rather be surrounded by your little eccentricities than by any disorder.

✎ If you commented on the oddness of his reaction, he’d huff softly, offering you a fleeting look that might almost pass for a smirk “You must understand, when one spends centuries organizing libraries, one grows particularly fond of efficiency. Resting is a simple task, unworthy of such ceremony.”

✎ But, as always with Erestor, his annoyance would be fleeting. He’d likely be lost in his thoughts again, soon forgotten—but if you were close enough to catch the rare warmth in his voice, you might realize there was a slight, unspoken fondness for your quiet, odd habits.

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☀️𝓖𝓵𝓸𝓻𝓯𝓲𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓵

Glorfindel, would react to the human quirks

Friendship bracelets

𖤓 Glorfindel’s brow raises in surprise as you hand him the friendship bracelet, his golden eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Oh, that’s very nice of you,” he says with a soft, warm smile, clearly touched by the gesture. As you slide the metal cuffs onto your wrists, his expression shifts. He looks at them, blinking a few times in disbelief, then chuckles.

𖤓 “Ah, I see,” he says, his voice filled with amusement. He tests the cuffs gently, the metal cool and firm against his skin. “So, we’re truly bound together now, are we?” There’s a hint of mischief in his tone, though his eyes hold only fondness. He stands still for a moment, considering the new situation, but soon his easy laugh fills the air. “Well, I suppose we won’t be going anywhere far, will we?” He meets your gaze, an affectionate grin curling his lips.

𖤓 He shrugs, unfazed by the sudden closeness, his chest swelling with a comforting sense of companionship. “I could think of worse fates,” he says, his voice playful yet sincere. “Though next time, I might prefer something a bit… lighter. But I’ll make do.” He gives you a soft, reassuring pat on the back. His presence is warm and steady, a symbol of quiet strength and enduring affection, and the moment feels as if time itself is suspended.

𖤓 With his arms casually crossed, Glorfindel looks at you, a touch of laughter in his eyes. “Perhaps this is a new form of… Elven bonding,” he teases, his tone light and full of care.

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You Burning their tongue on food even though you just said, “This is too hot.”

𖤓 Glorfindel watches as you eagerly take a bite of the food, despite your warning about its heat. His eyes flicker with a mix of amusement and concern when he hears the startled exclamation as you burn your tongue. “Ah, I warned you,” he says gently, his voice laced with both sympathy and a touch of teasing. His gaze softens as you try to endure the discomfort.

𖤓 He leans forward slightly, his golden hair shimmering as he assesses you, ever the protector. “You are a brave one, but you don’t have to suffer for your curiosity,” he adds, his hand instinctively reaching for the pitcher of cool water nearby, offering it to you with a warm smile. “Here, this should help.” He watches carefully, ensuring you’re okay, his concern clear despite the smile that lingers on his lips.

𖤓 After you take a sip, Glorfindel chuckles softly, shaking his head in that endearing way of his. “You humans are so adventurous,” he muses, a playful twinkle in his eyes. “But perhaps next time, you’ll heed my warning about hot food.” He leans back, still amused, but his tone softens as he adds, “I never can resist your bold spirit, though. It’s one of the things I admire about you.”

𖤓 He gives you a gentle, affectionate look, as though saying, “You’re worth every bit of worry,” and waits for you to recover, ready to offer further comfort. Despite the small mishap, Glorfindel’s concern and warmth shine through, ever eager to make sure you’re okay.

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You Laughing so hard you start hiccupping or snorting as if some sort of animal (pig) or dying animal).

𖤓 Glorfindel watches with a mixture of curiosity and delight as you laugh so hard that you begin hiccupping uncontrollably, followed by a snort that sounds more like a pig than a person. His eyes widen in surprise at first, but then, a broad grin spreads across his face. There’s something undeniably charming about the unrestrained joy you radiate, and his heart swells with affection.

𖤓 For a moment, he pauses, blinking in amusement as the hiccups seem to take on a life of their own, each burst making you snort even more. He can’t help himself. A soft, rich laugh escapes him, one that fills the air with warmth. “By the Valar,” he chuckles, his voice warm and affectionate, “I have never seen anyone laugh so… enthusiastically.”

𖤓 He steps closer, his expression filled with amusement and a hint of fondness. He gently places a hand on your back, as if to steady you, though the humor in his eyes never fades. “I must admit,” he teases, “I’ve seen many things in my long life, but I think you’ve just set a new standard for how laughter can sound.”

𖤓 As your snorts continue, he shakes his head, unable to suppress his laughter. “There is no doubt in my mind,” he says with a playful glint in his golden eyes, “that you’ve just become my favorite source of joy. You certainly know how to bring light to even the most mundane moments.”

𖤓 He lets the laughter flow freely, his own deep, infectious chuckle joining yours, enjoying how your happiness is so effortlessly contagious. Glorfindel’s demeanor is warm and relaxed, a rare and genuine expression of pure enjoyment. “Don’t ever change,” he adds with a wink, as you struggle to control yourself. His presence is gentle, always supportive, embracing you fully in the moment of laughter.

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You Forgetting why they walked into a room.

𖤓 Glorfindel watches with a mixture of gentle amusement and concern as you walk into the room, only to stand still, a puzzled look crossing your face. His golden eyes brighten with recognition as you pause, clearly having forgotten your purpose for entering. He tilts his head slightly, a soft chuckle escaping him as he watches you try to recall why you’ve come.

𖤓 “Ah, it seems even the wisest of us can lose their way now and then,” he says with a kind, teasing smile, his voice filled with warmth and understanding. His eyes flicker with that familiar affection he always carries for you, a mix of fondness and lightheartedness. He steps closer, his movements smooth and graceful, his presence offering a sense of calm.

𖤓 “You were searching for something, were you not?” Glorfindel asks, his tone playful but patient. He might even give you a little nudge, not to hurry you, but to reassure you that it’s perfectly fine to forget things sometimes. “Or perhaps it’s simply the weight of the world on your mind?” He chuckles softly at his own joke, clearly trying to make light of the situation.

𖤓 Glorfindel’s gaze softens as he steps further into your personal space, as if offering you silent comfort. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. I have, on occasion, walked into a room with every intention of doing something, only to forget in an instant. We all have our moments.”

𖤓 He stands there for a moment, a steady, comforting presence, letting the silence linger while you recollect your thoughts. His golden locks shimmer in the light as he patiently waits, not rushing you. After a moment, when you finally remember your purpose or laugh it off, he offers a warm, sympathetic smile, always quick to share in your humor.

𖤓 “See? Nothing to worry about,” Glorfindel says with a wink. “And, if you ever need help, you know where to find me.” There’s an undeniable tenderness in his voice as he places a hand lightly on your shoulder, offering his full support. The small, forgetful moments are just another way for him to show his unwavering care for you.

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You Flipping the pillow to the “cool side” before settling in.

𖤓 Glorfindel watches you with a quiet smile, his golden eyes gleaming as you flip the pillow to the “cool side” before settling into bed. He finds this small act strangely endearing, something so simple yet so deeply human. The moment brings a soft chuckle to his lips, a sound full of warmth and fondness.

𖤓 “You know,” he says with a teasing grin, his voice smooth and deep, “there is something rather charming about your little rituals. I’ve never seen anyone so particular about their pillows before.” He steps closer, his graceful movements echoing the elegance of an ancient, noble being, but there’s a lightness in his demeanor as he observes your actions. His gaze softens, reflecting a fondness that goes far beyond mere amusement.

𖤓 Glorfindel gently leans against the doorway, arms crossed, his posture relaxed but attentive. “I must admit, this is a habit I’ve never quite understood,” he continues with a playful smile, “but I’m sure it’s a comfort to you.” His voice has a playful edge, though it’s clear he doesn’t find your need for a cool pillow strange. Rather, he finds it uniquely endearing, a small piece of you that he’s come to cherish.

𖤓 After a brief pause, he watches you finally settle into bed, a content expression on your face. “It’s these little things that make you so… human,” he adds, his tone full of admiration. “So wonderfully human.” He grins as he continues, his voice softening. “The cool side of the pillow, the perfect temperature to rest your head… It’s an art I might never fully appreciate, but I will always understand.”

𖤓 With that, he steps closer, a slight gleam of mischief in his eyes. “If it helps, I could try this ‘cool side’ trick,” he teases, as if pondering whether such a thing would work for an elf. His voice softens once more, his expression turning sincere. “But I’ll leave it to you, as it’s your comfort I care about most.”

𖤓 As you settle in, Glorfindel watches you with a smile, content in the simple peace of the moment. His presence is a warm, steadying comfort beside you, a quiet reminder that, while he may not fully understand your human quirks, he will always embrace them with a heart full of affection.

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[twelfthadept-fics]

Watching LOTR yet again and while I lovelovelove the way Rivendell is designed, it's gorgeous and harmonious with nature and undeniably *Elvish*, one thing has always bothered me. There are no doors. Anywhere. At all.

What are you supposed to do if you need to have a pee? Or jerk it? Or hell, what if it's just hella windy outside? Or what about the wildlife? Is Elrond's dwelling just like infested with possums or what?

[lithiumseven]

The elves of middle earth having the same “call your dad when you don’t know how to fix a problem” instinct but because they live forever it’s like

Some elf starts experiencing the elven equivalent of car trouble (idk, horse won’t go?) and calls his dad, and then his dad can’t figure it out so he calls HIS dad and so on and so forth until you’ve got this guys entire lineage all huddled together in elven cargo shorts trying to solve a dented horseshoe

[elven-sisters]

Elwing with her boys!

Aren't they cute little smols?

[cheesy-cryptid]

Elrond and Celebrían

[mfelewzi]

The family tree of Eldarion, son of Elessar/Aragorn and Arwen, Heir of all the Houses of Edain and Eldars, with Maia's Blood too!

[ianmaxfielddesign]

The Evenstar

[sakasakiii]

imladris lads :D it started off as a few doodles of gildor bc of a great prompt i received from an anon a few weeks ago, and then spiralled into something else entirely bc i havent really taken the time to explore much of anything imladris-related? i really like the lindir-is-maglor concept so heres my take on how it couldve happened haha

as always, credit to Cartoon Network for the sparkly pink BG

thanks so much for the ask!! here's my take on gildor :DD i really like the way anon asked the question and it was what inspired me to draw finrod in the mix too strangely enough?? the vibes are similar 🤭

[diraxxer]

Elrond looks at the portrait of Maedhros and Maglor in Imladris

[mushroomates]

I need you to know that I Am Obsessed with your headcanons and you are so right. Legolas is lactose intolerant. Gandalf picks fights with birds. why are there no cows in Lothlorien. I need more Legolas hcs pls I crave blorbo content >:3c

more legolas headcanons per request:

cannot spell. have you seen elvish? sindarian or quenya doesn’t matter. dislexic nightmare. with all those dialects? no thank you

had a biting problem as a kid

also had a hitting problem. this was enabled because thuranduil found it hilarious. plus it’s hard to stop kids on a positive feedback loop.

sequence of events: legolas swats someone. thuranduil cracks up. legolas is happy his dad is happy and is receiving attention. repeat.

can only wear one specific type of shoe without losing his shit. is like a dog where he gets all weird and forgets to walk with new things on his feet. he really doesn’t like slippers.

is constantly making bets with other elves. it’s so stupid. he eggs on his dad the most. (bet you can’t shoot an arrow, blindfolded and drunk, and extinguish a candle) (this is how galion shot in the shoulder)

talks in a weird accent because aragorn talks in a weird accent and he thinks that by mimicking it they they can bond :)

skins his food. like, will eat the peel of apple then flesh. will remove the white of a boiled egg methodically before he gets to the yolk. will eat the crust of a pie and then the filling.

eats a sandwich layer by layer.

mimics sounds. if he hears a new noise he will immediately try and replicate it. has gotten really good at that.

can mimic gandalf clearing his throat really, really well. to the point where everyone stops and looks at gandalf expectantly.

loves to try and stick things in gimlis hair unnoticed. almost lost an arm that way.

is very good at pickpocketing. uses this to take things from someone and plant it on someone else. ex: plant gandalfs pipe on pippin.

[igura]

wardrobe notes for my silly au; travelling king thranduil

[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.

[cottoncandiescupcakes]

All the elf places shown so far

Lothlorién - Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn - Lord of the Rings

Rivendell - Lord Elrond and his beloved wife Celebrían(RIP) and daughter Arwen and twin sons - Lord of the Rings

Mirkwood, The Elven King's Halls - King Thranduil and his beloved Queen(RIP), son Prince Legolas - The Hobbit

Lindon - High King Gil-Galad - The Rings of Power

Eregion - Lord Celebrimbor - The Rings of Power

[kai-janik-art]

Rivendell (2024)

Limited edition lino print

21x21 cm

Will be available in my etsy shop around February.

[windrelyn]

A typical day in Imladris

[queenstarlight2]

Lindir and a modern human who thought his name was Lindor like the chocolate for awhile until someone had to tell her she was saying his name wrong 😂

Let's put our listening ears on

word count: 1,035

The morning sun spilled golden light across Rivendell, painting the dew-kissed leaves in shimmering hues. Birds trilled from the treetops, and the cool, sweet air carried with it the fragrance of blossoming wildflowers. You found yourself wandering the grand halls of Elrond’s haven once more, marveling at the beauty that felt as surreal as a dream.

You were adjusting well, or so you liked to believe. Even if waking up in Middle-earth had initially been a shock, Rivendell’s serene beauty and the Elves’ gentle, albeit occasionally amused, company had helped you settle in. It didn’t hurt that Lindir, one of the more graceful and composed Elves, often accompanied you on your walks.

Today was no different. You found Lindir waiting by one of the many bridges that arched over Rivendell’s rivers, his silver hair catching the light, and his expression, as always, a careful mask of tranquility. You greeted him with a wave and an enthusiastic grin.

“Good morning, Lindor!” you called out cheerfully.

His serene expression twitched ever so slightly, but his smile remained. “Good morning to you as well,” he replied, his voice smooth as the river’s song.

The name—Lindor—had become something of a pet nickname. You knew it was a slight mispronunciation of his actual name, but somehow, it had stuck, and Lindir never corrected you. You didn’t think too deeply about it, assuming it was either not important enough to mention or perhaps he found it endearing. Besides, in a place so removed from your world, it was nice to have something familiar, even if it was just a name that reminded you of chocolates.

Together, you wandered down a path that led to a sun-dappled grove, your conversation meandering as effortlessly as the river beside you. Lindir asked questions about your world, his curiosity polite but genuine. You had spoken of cities and cars, of libraries full of books and kitchens full of foods the Elves had never imagined, but somehow, chocolate had yet to come up.

“You know,” you said, looking up at him, “it’s funny how you Elves don’t seem to get tired. If I didn’t have chocolate in my world, I don’t think I’d have survived college.”

Lindir’s brow furrowed slightly. “Chocolate?” he repeated, testing the word on his tongue. “What is that?”

You blinked. “Wait, really? You don’t have chocolate?”

Before Lindir could respond, another Elf, taller and with a more severe demeanor, approached. It was Erestor, one of Elrond’s advisors and librarian. He paused, eyeing you both with his typical scrutinizing expression, which always made you feel slightly like a wayward child.

“Ah, My lady, Master Lindir,” Erestor greeted, though his gaze lingered on you. “Forgive me, but I have overheard something quite peculiar these past weeks.”

You tilted your head, curiosity piqued. “Oh? What’s that?”

Erestor’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment, you felt the weight of an Elven stare that seemed capable of seeing straight through you. “The name by which you address Master Lindir,” he said, his voice precise, “is incorrect. It is not ‘Lindor,’ but Lindir.”

Your cheeks flushed with sudden embarrassment. “Oh no,” you said, your hands flying up to cover your mouth. “I’m so sorry! Why didn’t you say anything, Lindir?”

Lindir, who looked both amused and faintly embarrassed, shook his head lightly. “I did not wish to embarrass you,” he admitted, a gentle smile gracing his lips. “Besides, you seemed to find some joy in calling me by that name. I did not think it harmful.”

Erestor, however, looked as though he was trying very hard not to roll his eyes. “And what, pray tell, is this Lindor you have been referring to?”

You couldn’t help but giggle, though you tried to stifle it. “Well, it’s a type of chocolate in my world. A really fancy, melt-in-your-mouth kind of chocolate. The best, really.”

Lindir and Erestor exchanged a look, one of deep Elven confusion, and it only made your laughter harder to contain.

“Chocolate,” Lindir mused, as if tasting the word again might give him insight. “You must explain this… delicacy.”

“Oh, absolutely,” you said, excitement bubbling up at the prospect. “Chocolate is, like, this heavenly, creamy food made from cacao beans, and you can make it into all kinds of things—bars, drinks, desserts. And Lindor chocolates are these little round truffles with a silky filling that just melts when you eat it.”

The Elves stared at you, their expressions frozen somewhere between polite interest and utter incomprehension. Finally, Erestor shook his head, his long hair swaying with the movement. “Your world sounds increasingly bizarre, My Lady,” he declared.

You grinned sheepishly. “Yeah, I guess it is. But seriously, I owe you an apology, Lindir. I’ll get your name right from now on.”

Lindir’s eyes softened, and he placed a hand on your shoulder. “No harm done,” he said gently. “If it is any consolation, the way you say it has a certain charm. But I am pleased to know the story behind this… Lindor chocolate.”

You couldn’t help but smile up at him. “Thanks for being so understanding.”

Erestor looked between the two of you, sighed as though resigning himself to the strangeness that came with having a human guest, and excused himself, muttering something about the peculiarity of mortals. You and Lindir watched him go, and once he was out of earshot, you both burst into laughter.

“He must think I’m hopeless,” you said, wiping a tear of laughter from your eye.

Lindir’s laughter faded into a fond smile. “I think he finds you… perplexing, but in a way that makes this world feel a bit more lively,” he said. “As do I.”

You felt warmth bloom in your chest, and for a moment, the beauty of Rivendell seemed brighter, more vibrant. “Thank you,” you said, feeling a bit shy. “I guess I’ll have to introduce chocolate to Middle-earth one day, won’t I?”

Lindir’s eyes lit up with a playful glint. “I look forward to it,” he replied, “if only to finally understand what could be worthy of my accidental namesake.”

And with that, you continued your walk together, the morning light gilding the leaves, and a new promise of sweet surprises hanging in the air between you.