#glorfindel x reader

[n0tamused]

These are so sweet oml :( my favourite golden elf

Glorfindel SFW Relationship Alphabet

Request: Could you do SFW Alphabet #2 for Glorfindel? I love your writing !!! - @broken-ghost

A/N: Thank you very much, your words are appreciated. I do hope you enjoy what I've written for you.

A is for Affection – how affectionate are they? how do they show affection?

Glorfindel is one of the most affectionate elves that existed. His entire relationship is built on affections and if he can’t express them, his appearance naturally dims. The majority of Glorfindel’s affections are physical touch; from hand holding to kisses to hugs. He loves when he’s finished with paperwork and returns to his chamber to cuddle you in silence. It doesn’t matter if you choose to speak with him or not, he relishes being in your arms. They are the safest and comfiest place in the world.

B is for Best friend – what would they be like as a best friend? how would the friendship start?

You have a one-of-a-kind type of friendship with him and there is never a day where it’s dull and grey. Every day is filled with excitement and golden hair in your eyes sight, whether you want it or not. The thing about what makes your friendship with him great is that the both of you are head-asses. Glorfindel is the type to say if you jumped off a cliff, of course, I’d follow. If you suggested the most illegal act, he is going to help you instead of preventing it. You want to bother Lord Elrond or Erestor, he’s helping without fear – like doing that isn’t death itself. At the same time, Glorfindel does offer amazing advice due to having been alive for ages and seen the world of horror. His words of inspiration can lift your sour moods and turn that frown upside down.

C is for Cuddles – do they like to cuddle? how would they cuddle?

Glorfindel the cuddle monster is a great name to describe him because he doesn’t care if you’re standing or working or even talking to Lord Elrond, if he can cuddle, so he does. He loves to drape his entire body over yours as he cuddles, still ensuring that he doesn’t crush you under his weight. You’ve complained and told him that he’s like an overgrown puppy as he tries to wrap every limb of his around you. He’d gasp and hold his hand over his heart with a “wounded” look on his face. He does run extra warm during the summer; thus cuddling is reduced and he gets sad.

D is for Domestic – do they want to settle down? how are they at cooking and cleaning?

By elven standards, the males are supposed to be able to cook and help their spouses around the household with chores, but as Glorfindel is a Lord who spends time fighting, cooking and cleaning are the last things he focuses on. He does want to marry you and settle down quickly because he loves you and that’s the end goal, but if you want to live a domesticated life, you’re going to have to teach him. It’s interesting sightseeing him in an apron cooking in the kitchen, acting all-pro chef.

E is for Ending – if they had to break up with their s/o, how would they do it? why would they do it?

This is one of the most tearful situations that either of you could experience in your lives and one that neither would forget. Glorfindel isn’t the type to let you go so easily because he’s going to be on his knees, begging for you to stay and give the relationship another chance. You will literally see the shine from his hair and aura diminish immediately. If he could, his arms would be wrapped around you, pleading every last cause to stay. You’re the best thing that has ever happened to him, so why would you leave him so easily without fighting.

F is for Fiancé(e) – how do they feel about commitment? how quick would they want to get married?

Part of Glorfindel would love to be wedded immediately to you and the other part would want to relax and enjoy the stroll of getting to know you better. Glorfindel wants the entire ride of the relationship with you to be as sincere as possible, thus ensuring that you are also on the same wavelength as him – marriage. Being the exceptionally loyal person that he is, you need not worry about him fretting or worrying about the end goal. He’s been down for you since day one. Nothing about marriage scares him the slightest, I mean he’s fought a Balrog and crossed the Helcaraxё, no wedding jitters.

G is for Gentle – how gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?

He is equally gentle with you physically and emotionally. You don’t have to worry about him hiding his emotions and being afraid to reveal his hurt or pain. During his time healing from being reborn, you were there with open arms to comfort him and that act alone allowed him to express himself. The same is for his positive emotions. He wants and needs for you to know that he’s happy that he’s in love with you and proud to have you in his life. Glorfindel is aware that because he’s a warrior, he must be gentler with your figure, so he doesn’t send you into the healing wing, like last time. As much as he’s ecstatic to litter you with hugs and kisses, he understands that he must be careful with your body.

H is for Hugs – do they like hugs? how often do they do it? what are their hugs like?

Being hugged by him is like being smothered by a golden retriever, and I don’t think you would complain. Similar to cuddling, he hugs you whenever he can and the opportunity presents itself. That also means in public if he’s feeling clingy, then Glorfindel has attached himself to you and refuses to let go.

I is for I love you – how do they say the l-word? when do they say the l-word?

Every morning you awake, the words roll easily off Glorfindel’s tongue, and they cause you to melt. It doesn’t matter what you do, you are told ‘I love you’ every minute of the day and there is a heavy meaning behind each time it is said. You could just walk into the room or smile in his direction and Glorfindel is expressing how much he loves you. The words are always accompanied by a shine in his aura and a sparkle in his eyes.

J is for Jealousy – how jealous do they get? what do they do when they're jealous?

People believe that because he’s such a level-headed person, he’s not above confronting the person who’s not getting the hint that you’re not interested. He believes that you would never flirt with someone else for whatever reason, but when the individual decided to invade your personal space. Please get every elf in Gondolin or Imladris to restrain him because he’s ready to break that person’s hand for good. He hates when people get too comfortable and believe that they could touch you and the urge to get physical is knocking on his door.

K is for Kisses – what are their kisses like? where do they like to kiss you? where do they like to be kissed?

He’s one of those Prince Charming that ended up in Middle Earth, so his kisses are magical and romantic with a twist of excitement because you never know what new way he has developed to kiss you. His favourite way to kiss you is while dancing under the moonlight. He’ll dip you and raise you up to interlock his lips with yours for a sweet kiss while his hands move from your waist to cup your face. When he’s finished, he’ll lean in again to kiss your nose or forehead.

L is for Little ones – how are they around children?

Glorfindel loves children and they equally love him as well, so interaction with them is wholesome. I am a firm believer that he assisted with raising both Elladan and Elrohir and Arwen as well as Earendil. So, dealing with children has never been a problem or a task for him. It’s a chaotic sight to walk in and see him being tackled by tiny figures or them combing his hair. He loves to walk around and proudly show off their artwork, even if it makes him appear messy – he still looks amazing.

M is for Morning – how are mornings spent with them?

This is one of the times that Glorfindel is quiet and isn’t rambunctiously laughing. His laughing is airy and light along with his touches. Tangled between the soft sheets with the morning light illuminating the room and Glorfindel’s golden curls spawled around him like a halo. You in his warm muscular embrace, tracing patterns on his skin and tickling him. The both of you would spend a good hour in bed before he leaves first to ready himself for the morning. If you are lucky, he’ll stay for breakfast or he’ll return. If you do wake late, Glorfindel would return to you all sweaty from a morning spar and tackles you in bed while sleeping. I’m amazed you haven’t kicked him out after that event yet.

N is for Night – how are nights spent with them?

Most of the time, during the times of peace around Imladris, Glorfindel loves to take you for rides around through the forest or hikes for stargazing. Hours are spent sitting on a hilltop or field gazing at the stars and endless talks about the future. Amidst the talks, Glorfindel loves to insert comments about how beautiful you appear under the stars or how the stars are in your eyes. Please return the comments to see him fold and turn red under your compliments. He acts like a young ellon who just reached maturity.

O is for Open – when would they start revealing things about themselves? do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?

As much as he’s an extrovert-type person, there are things that Glorfindel himself finds difficult to open up about because of how painful they are. That is mainly his past which included his death. He doesn’t mind talking about his time in Gondolin with his friends or back in Valinor, but he trails off mid-conversation because painful memories resurface. When you ask him about them, he tends to become hesitant because it’s painful for him to speak about. So, he’s going to approach topics like the past very slowly on his own time.

P is for Patience – how easily angered are they?

He has endless patience, but when it comes to you and your safety, he loses every ounce. Once he was told to stay put outside the infirmary because the healers needed space to operate on your injuries, but one scream from you and he broke through the doors. It took at least five guards to hold him down. However, aside from you, his patience is truly endless so long as it doesn’t involve you. Children could be screaming and tugging his hair or clothes and he sits there like ‘everything is fine, I’m fine’. You sometimes wish you had his patience.

Q is for Quizzes – how much would they remember about you? do they remember every little detail you mention in passing? or do they kind of forget everything?

You could question him on an event that occurred when you two were children back in Valinor which happened ten thousand years ago, and he would recite everything down to the facial expression you made. Not once does he forget anything about you, and he makes it known to you. Should you pass from this world, Glorfindel sometimes regrets his great memory. Every time he sees or hears something that reminds him of you, his heart hurts at the remembrance.

R is for Remember – what is their favourite moment in your relationship?

He remembers the moment you walked down the aisle during your wedding. You were adorned in your house colours along with gold and Celandines and the veil over your head with the bouquet of flowers in your hands. You were the most beautiful he’s ever seen, and it was the perfect moment. He couldn’t take his eyes off you, he even shed tears.

S is for Security – how (over)protective are they? how would they protect you? how would they like to be protected?

Glorfindel once saw someone invading your personal space by touching you and thus, making you uncomfortable and he was ready to break that person's arm off. Anything that concerns your safety, and he doesn’t care if someone needs to be acquainted with his hands or swords. Overly protective isn’t the right term to describe him, he just hates to see people disrespecting your personal space and you. However, he is a mother hen when it comes to injuries. A cut the size of a speck of dust and he’s tripping.

T is for Try – how much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?

This is a grandiose and dramatic person, how could he not show off to the world the wonderful and amazing lover he has. Efforts into everything he prepares, and you aren’t spared from the expenses. Not everything comes in the form of tangible but also the intangible and he goes above and beyond to impress and ensure that you are comfortable and well taken care of.

U is for Ugly – what would be some bad habits of theirs?

His levels of overprotective behaviour do make you upset with him at times. Moments when he steps out of line to threaten a person because of unintentional personal space invasion, he doesn’t realize that his snapping was unnecessary. An argument or two has broken out from his acting and it leaves the both of you hurt. Luckily, Glorfindel is an apologetic person, so it won’t take him long to understand his actions and genuinely apologize.

V is for Vanity – how concerned are they with their looks?

Very concerned because it’s Glorfindel who is famed for his beautiful golden hair and also due to elven beauty standards. He knows his appearance was one feature that attracted you to him, so he always ensures that his attire is spik and spanks for you. Nothing less than you deserves, thus a clean and well dressed Glorfindel every time you meet.

W is for Whole – would they feel incomplete without you?

Yes, he will if you leave him. Similar to your break-up, a separation between you both would send him into depression because he always believed that you two were soulmates. Leaving him was the last thing he ever believe you were capable of doing, and that it was happening, he would be able to take it. You’re the reason he wakes up so early in the morning to greet or practice pickup lines and jokes. He shines brighter when you’re around.

X is for Xtra – (a) random headcanon(s) for them

His compassion toward others. Glorfindel is a person who tends to put others before himself, maybe it’s a trait developed from being a warrior whose job is to ensure the safety of others. This trait extends into the way he interacts with others even though there isn’t any danger. When you first met him and accompanied him on walks, you were always amazed by his compassion and kindness towards others and not once did it ever feel forced. Whenever you are complimenting him, it’s a trait of his you praise him greatly for.

Y is for Yuck – what are some things they wouldn't like, either in general or in a partner?

He would dislike it if you were a pessimistic person. Remember, Glorfindel spent his life around a lot of pain and death, yet he tries to see the beauty in what little is left in this world. To meet someone who refuses to see such no matter how positive a situation was would anger him. Of course, he’s going to try and understand why you see things the way you do, but when he tries to help you see the beauty in things and you fail to comply, it breaks him.

Z is for Zzz – what are some sleep habits of theirs?

His dreams consist of a lot of his past life during his time on Middle Earth before his death. He gets nightmares of his death and the fall of Gondolin and even times of you being in the mix when he started courting. To think that after all those years he would have grown out of the nightmares and eased into his new life still comes back to haunt him, unfortunately. It does lessen when you spend the night and sleep next to him. He’ll hold you close in his arms and dream happy dreams filled with the both of you in bliss.

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[n0tamused]

"Glorfindel the Reckless"

A/N: Requested by @stormchaser819 ! I hope you enjoy <3 I love Glorfindel so much, I hope I did him justice. Please let me know what you think! If anyone wants to be on my elf tag-list let me know, and mention which character you'd like to be tagged for if you want to be tagged for anyone in particular

Contents: Glorfindel x Elf!Reader, GN reader, fluff. Elvish translations at the bottom

Words: 1448 I Ko-Fi

Sunsets in Gondolin have always been a sight worthy of gazing upon. They never lost their beauty nor their charm and served well in comforting the hearts of many after all the dark news that reached them, be it by word or by letter. It almost caught you unawares now as the same sunset painted the marbled floor in glittering spots of gold and orange around you. 'Has it been so long already?'

Glorfindel sat quietly for once, observing you through tender eyes as you wrapped his injured arm in new dressings, the last of his wounds. Although he had no lack of love in Gondolin, nor the lack of people worried for him, his heart squeezed at the sight of your face when it wrinkled with worry, the tight frown on your lips and the way your teeth marked your lips. His intentions were to shield you, comfort you, but he knew he wouldn’t be doing any of it by sending you away or offering you empty words in hopes to sweep the topic of wounds away. 

“You’re healing quickly..” your words snapped him out of his internal musings, and he blinked once, twice as if your face was only now coming into his vision, cleared away of fog and distance. His lips pull upward at the corners slightly, searching your eyes for something.

“And that is much relief, but also to be expected when I have you tending to all that wishes to ail me” His words were a warm timbre, as gentle as the hearth fire in dusky winter nights. “I have much to thank you for,” he added as he watched you tuck away the excess wrapping, securing it tightly before patting the palm of your hand around the side of his forearm, the motion gentle. 

“The healers have done their due as well, I am not a great healer, but I know how to dress a wound” you told him as you looked up at him after finishing your task, exhaling softly through your nose. Elven blood was enduring, persevering, yet not even that was able to make you feel any less tired, or look the part. For too long did Glorfindel linger outside of your eyes and out of your reach, fighting battles and doing deeds worthy of the praise he got, and more. For too long he left you without a word. All of which you understood, yet it did little to comfort you of his safety. Had you any skill with a sword as he did, perhaps you would have taken a place by his side in the battles. But your weapon was a quill, rather than a blade.

“The healers have gotten their due praise and my gratitude, but you ought not to discredit yourself simply because you do not bear the title of theirs” Glorfindel said, his tone laced with subtle interwoven notes of concern. His head absentmindedly titled to one side, hoping to catch your suddenly fallen gaze. 

Your eyes flickered to his own for a heartbeat before you busied yourself with sorting away the excess wound dressing, ointments and herbs and tools and all else you brought in your healer’s bag. For a healing wound of his, this was much unnecessary. “I am not discrediting myself” you replied, your voice dropping lower despite your efforts to keep sturdy. Secrets were a distant thing between you and Glorfindel, almost as if there was an external force stripping you both bare, feeling so natural yet, at times like these, embarrassing. 

“I only worry you’ll allow the reputation everyone pins on you to get the better of your wits one day”  It was a harmless bite, a proof of your worry you knew not how to express in any other way.

Glorfindel huffed out a laugh, breathing in a good mouthful as his lips quirked upwards as if greatly amused by your words. He sighed as he shook his head slowly, his gaze leaving you for a moment as he took in the sight of the great bedchamber around him. The gold lances of the sun shone through still, slowly transitioning from gold to pale purples and pinks. “Surely, you do not worry yourself to exhaustion because of this?” he looked back to you, “Must I remind you that I am not as reckless as you may think?” he offers gently.

Your eyes met his gaze, noticing the hint of mischief but also.. worry. He may not show it, but you could see it, feel it when his fingers brushed your hand in a silent quest of comfort for both of your hearts. 

“No.. I.. I am fully aware of your skill, Glorfindel” you made yourself chuckle, lips pulling upward in a smile to ease yourself into the sentence. “I just.. hate to see you hurt, surely you understand that I am not exactly myself when I see you like this?” you take his good hand in yours and give a squeeze which he gladly returned. “It pains me to see you off wherever you go to battle, any battle, and to be sure sometimes my heart makes a beast out of a fly, but I.. I just worry for you, melda”

“I know… as do I for you..” he smiles at you again, and his hand slips the clasp of yours to find its way up. His fingers touched the line of your jaw tenderly at first, feather light, before his palm slipped onto your cheek to hold it. Seeing you lean into it made Glorfindel sit up and draw closer to you. His lips found yours in a lingering kiss. He was warm, warm as always, warm as fire and he held yours like nothing else mattered in the world but this very moment. 

After he had pulled back he made slow, sweet motions that brushed the tip of his nose against yours and then pressed your foreheads together.  “Elin nin.. you can have my word that I would never cast aside all the wisdom I have just so another song may be sung about me, not when I know you’d eat yourself from within if I were to do something so stupid” His tone had dropped to a whisper, shared strictly within this small bubble the two of you created. 

“Recklessness does not suit me, as you always love to remind me, and I do not care to try it out again any time soon” he chuckled, sparking a small chain reaction that ended with you chuckling along with him. Your hand found its way over his, holding him glued to you. 

“You said I look like a fool when I am too hasty” he continued, fueling the moment for what it was, so it may melt away the tension.

“Foolish behaviour is not fit for a lord of the house of the Golden Flower” you told him, shuffling closer to him. 

Glorfindel nodded, “Precisely. And I’d be an even bigger fool not to listen to you, Meleth nîn. There’d be many songs sung about Glorfindel the Fool by now.. Hah, I can almost imagine the verses. ‘Glorfindel charged with a mighty shout, but tripped on a rock and his long cape right out’!” 

It was hard to resist laughter, and it all bubbled up to your mouth and shook your shoulders as Glorfindel came up with verses on the spot. 

“ ‘His sword slipped from his hand, stuck in a tree so high, he wondered whether he might just wish it goodbye’ “ 

He did not stop until you slapped him on the shoulder, cheeks dusted with pink from laughter. “Oh, stop! You got your point across, no need to make me suffer any more with these verses of yours” you complained as you doubled over, the top of your head pressing into his shoulder as to hide away the mirth in your face.

“Ecthellion knows how to write and sing better than I, but I am not so bad myself at weaving a rhyme or two” he replied, letting you lean into him while one arm went around you, his good arm pressing you further into him. His chest was shaking with humble chuckles. “Melin ceni hin lîn síla i ‘eladhach! Don’t hide from me” He told you after swallowing a breath and you took courage to face the golden haired lord with all your flushed-face might. 

“There you are” he added and cupped the back of your nape with his hand. “Has my recklessness frightened you?”

“No, but it might annoy me if you mention it any more” you straightened up and kissed his cheek, reveling in the way he glowed when he smiled. 

melda - beloved

Elin nin - my star

Meleth nîn - my love

Melin ceni hin lîn síla i ‘eladhach -I love to see your eyes shine when you laugh

Ⓒ n0tamused/jarttavia_. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

[earthlybeam]

Could I request how Glorfindel, Celebrimbor, and Elrond would react to a reader who had magical healing powers kind of like Rapunzel on Tangled? Sorry if this one sounds too weird. Thank you!

How would Glorfindel, Celebrimbor, and Elrond react to a reader who possesses magical healing powers similar to Rapunzel in Tangled?

The you the reader’s long as (your own hair colour) but turns golden and glows when you sing a special song, releasing healing magic that can heal wounds, cure sickness, and even restore life. Their magic, known as “Healing Magic” or “Sun Magic,” is connected to the power of the sun and can even reverse aging.

☀️𝓖𝓵𝓸𝓻𝓯𝓲𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓵

The battle had raged for hours under a darkened sky, the sun hidden behind clouds thick with smoke and ash. Glorfindel had been at the forefront, leading his warriors with a brilliance that seemed to defy the shadow encroaching upon the land. His golden hair, shining even amidst the chaos, was a beacon of hope to those who fought beside him and a target for the foul creatures of darkness. The enemy had come in waves—hordes of orcs, snarling wargs, and even a towering beast that seemed to echo the malice of the ancient balrogs. Glorfindel faced them with unmatched courage, his sword flashing like a streak of sunlight cutting through the gloom. He moved with a grace and precision that belied the sheer brutality of the battle, each swing of his blade felling multiple foes.

He had drawn the attention of the monstrous beast early on—a hulking creature of shadow and flame, its body riddled with jagged spikes and its eyes burning like molten coals. The creature had been relentless, its roars shaking the battlefield as it charged toward Glorfindel. He had stood his ground, the fire in his heart matching the fire in the beast’s eyes. “Hold the line!” Glorfindel had called to his warriors, his voice carrying above the din of clashing steel and dying cries. “Do not falter! Do not fear!” His words had steeled their resolve, but the monster was a foe unlike any other. As it bore down on him, Glorfindel met it head-on, his sword cutting into its hide with precision. Yet for every wound he dealt, the beast retaliated with savage ferocity. Its claws raked the ground, sending up sprays of dirt and rock. Its tail lashed out like a whip, and Glorfindel barely managed to evade the blow, his reflexes saving him from a potentially fatal strike.

The battle between the two was a dance of light and shadow, strength against strength. Glorfindel drove his blade into the creature’s flank, and it howled in pain, but not before its massive arm swung down with devastating force. The blow sent Glorfindel hurtling backward, his armor denting as he crashed into the ground. He rose quickly, ignoring the sharp pain that radiated through his ribs, and charged again, his blade singing as it cleaved through the air. Finally, with one well-placed strike, Glorfindel severed one of the creature’s arms, its blackened blood spilling onto the scorched earth. The beast screamed in fury, thrashing wildly, but Glorfindel pressed his advantage. He leapt onto its back, driving his sword deep into the base of its neck. The creature convulsed, its death throes shaking the ground, but not before it retaliated with a final, desperate strike. Its clawed hand came down, raking across Glorfindel’s side. The jagged talons tore through his armor and flesh, leaving a gaping wound just above his ribs. The force of the blow flung him off the beast, and he landed hard against a jagged boulder.

Dazed and bleeding, Glorfindel barely registered the monstrous creature collapsing in its death throes, its fiery light flickering out. Around him, his warriors rallied, inspired by his victory over the beast, but Glorfindel himself could no longer rise. He slumped against the boulder, his strength ebbing away with each passing moment. The pain in his side was sharp and unrelenting, blood pouring from the wound in a steady stream. His vision blurred, the edges of the world fading to shadow. He had given everything to ensure his people’s victory, but now he felt the cold grip of death closing in. As his breathing grew shallow, his thoughts turned to you. He did not know why—perhaps it was the comfort of your voice, your light, or the way you had always reminded him of hope. He clung to that thought as darkness began to claim him, the sounds of the battlefield growing distant. Unbeknownst to him, you were already searching for him, your heart aching with a desperate urgency as you moved through the wreckage of the battlefield. And though Glorfindel’s strength waned, a flicker of hope remained, faint as a dying ember, but enough to hold on just a little longer.

The battlefield was a grim expanse of ruin. The ground, scorched and blackened, bore the remains of the fierce battle: shattered swords, broken shields, and the lifeless forms of orcs sprawled in grotesque piles. Smoke curled into the dusky sky, carrying with it the acrid stench of death. You staggered through the devastation, heart pounding, eyes scanning desperately for the one you sought. Glorfindel. Where was he? Your breath caught when you finally saw him—a golden light dimmed amidst the carnage. He was slumped against a jagged boulder, his once-radiant hair now matted with blood and dirt. His golden armor, dented and smeared with ash, bore the marks of a fierce battle. But it was the wound above his ribs, a jagged, gaping tear, that seized your heart in terror. Blood poured from it in rhythmic waves, pooling at his side. “Glorfindel!” you cried, your voice cracking with desperation as you rushed toward him. Your heart thundered in your chest, each step heavier than the last, the battlefield stretching before you like an unforgiving sea of carnage. You stumbled, tripping over the debris scattered across the ground, but nothing could stop you from reaching him. When your eyes found his bloodied form, crumpled against the jagged boulder, a wave of terror hit you like a physical blow. He stirred faintly at your voice, his golden hair matted with blood, and his face—once filled with a strength that could command armies—was now pale and drawn, a shadow of its usual brilliance. The vibrant blue of his gaze, so often like the clearest sky, was now clouded and dull, a reflection of the anguish he bore.

“Glorfindel…” you whispered again, your voice barely a breath, as you knelt beside him. He blinked, as though struggling to focus on you, the pain written clearly across his face. When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse, a ragged whisper, “You… shouldn’t be here. It’s too dangerous.” You felt your heart break at his words, the finality in his tone. But there was no hesitation in you, no thought of leaving him to the cold embrace of death. “I’m not leaving you,” you replied fiercely, your voice stronger than you felt, a stubborn defiance that surged within you like a lifeline. You dropped to your knees beside him, hands trembling as you reached for him, desperate to touch him, to feel his warmth. His breath was shallow, his chest rising and falling in irregular intervals. Every shallow intake of air seemed to cost him more than the last. Blood, dark and thick, soaked his side where the wound had torn through his armor. His once-mighty sword lay shattered at his side, a grim reminder of the battle that had almost claimed him. You saw the faint twitch of his hand, weak and uncoordinated, reaching out as though he still wished to protect himself, to rise against whatever enemy threatened him. But the motion was feeble, his strength draining away with every passing second. Your fingers trembled as you reached for his bloodied cheek, brushing away a streak of crimson, your heart breaking as you felt the coldness of his skin beneath your touch. “Hold on, Glorfindel,” you whispered urgently, a desperate plea buried in the words, though it was more of a promise. “I’ll fix this. I’ll save you.”

His lips parted, perhaps to protest, to tell you again that it was hopeless, but no words came. His chest heaved with effort, the blood pooling at his side staining the ground beneath him. His body seemed to sag further against the boulder, his strength crumbling like the very battlefield that surrounded him. A deep, suffocating fear gripped your chest. The thought of losing him here, in this moment, was unbearable. You couldn’t lose him—not like this. Not after everything he had fought for, not after all the sacrifices made. You could feel the weight of the battle pressing down on you, the cries of fallen warriors, the distant rumble of the still-unfolding war, but in that moment, there was only him—his pain, his breath, the stillness between you both. You leaned closer, your heart thundering as you pressed your forehead gently against his. His breath was shallow, but it was steady—barely. And you held onto that, onto him, with everything you had.

A fierce resolve overtook you. The battle raged on around you, the cries of the wounded and the clash of weapons filling the air, but none of it mattered. The only thing that mattered was him. You glanced around the battlefield in desperation, searching for anything that might help him, but the wreckage was overwhelming. Nothing was within reach. Medical supplies were too far away, and time—time was slipping through your fingers like grains of sand, each second slipping further away, each breath of his weaker than the last. There was only one choice left. It was the only thing you could do now—the only thing you had ever heard whispered in the stories. Your gift. The light you carried within you, the power that was both a blessing and a burden. You had never dared to use it like this, not in such dire circumstances, but you could feel its stirring deep within your chest, as though it knew what was at stake.

Taking a deep breath, you reached for a strand of your own hair. Your hair, a deep shade of midnight black with glints of silver that seemed to shimmer faintly even in the dull light of the battlefield. It felt as though it remembered the light of a time long past, a time before darkness had settled across the lands. As you pulled a section free, the strands seemed to catch the light, glistening like threads of the stars themselves. Without hesitation, you pressed it to his wound. The blood soaked into your hair immediately, dark crimson staining the silvery strands, but you didn’t flinch. You didn’t care. Nothing mattered except saving him, pulling him back from the brink of death. Your fingers trembled, but you held steady, gathering your strength as you closed your eyes. The song came to you unbidden, a melody you had known since childhood, a song of old magic, of healing, of the light that flowed from you.

“Flower, gleam and glow, Let your power shine. Make the clock reverse, Bring back what once was mine. Heal what has been hurt, Change the Fates’ design. Save what has been lost, Bring back what once was mine. What once was mine.”

The words spilled from your lips, soft at first, trembling with uncertainty, but as you sang, something inside you shifted. The more you poured your heart into it, the clearer the melody became. It rose in strength and clarity, echoing across the battlefield, cutting through the heavy silence that hung over the scene like a fog. The song was a lifeline. A cry for him, for life, for hope. The air seemed to shimmer with the power of your voice, wrapping itself around Glorfindel, pulling him back from the abyss. His head lolled weakly to the side, his breath shallow and faint. His eyes fluttered closed once more, the exhaustion and pain too much for him to bear. Yet, as your song reached him, the warmth of it washed over him, pulling him back from the edge of darkness. His breath steadied, his pulse slowing, and for a fleeting moment, there was peace in the chaotic world around him.

The light from your hair, soft at first, began to grow brighter, blooming with a life of its own. It pulsed with a rhythm, an ancient pulse, as though the light was drawing from deep within you, from the heart of the very stars themselves. The golden glow wrapped around his wound, weaving itself into the jagged tear in his side. It was as though the very fibers of his flesh were being gently coaxed back into place. Slowly, the wound began to knit itself together. The ragged edges smoothed, and the deep crimson of the blood was replaced with the warmth of the light. The death that had clung to him—dark, cold, and relentless—was slowly driven away, as if it could not stand in the face of your song. With every note that left your lips, every surge of light that pulsed through him, the wound healed, the life returning to his body, stitch by stitch. The terror that had consumed you ebbed away, replaced by the fragile hope that perhaps you could save him—perhaps you could pull him back from the brink of the grave.

Glorfindel stirred at the sound of your voice, a soft, pained groan escaping his lips. His chest heaved with each shallow breath, and for a moment, his face twisted in agony. But then, as your song continued, the warmth of the light you had summoned wrapped around him, a gentle but persistent force that seemed to slow the chaos inside his body. The erratic rise and fall of his chest steadied, his breathing less labored, as though the very air around him had begun to ease his suffering. His eyes, clouded and distant moments before, fluttered open once again. The piercing blue of his gaze, which had once been full of life and fire, was now dimmed by pain, but still they sought you out. There was something in the way he looked at you—something both desperate and filled with awe—that made your heart tighten.

Through the haze of pain and confusion, he saw you. Your hair, still glowing with the light of your magic, shimmered like liquid gold in the darkness of the battlefield. The light seemed to emanate from you, pulsing gently like the heartbeat of the world itself. It reminded him of the stars, of the Trees, of a time long past, a time when the world had been whole, when the light had been pure and undivided. “This light…” His voice, though hoarse and weakened, was filled with reverence. “It is the light of the Trees… the same as the stars. It feels… like home.” His words barely reached you at first, but the weight of them settled over you like a mantle, heavy with meaning. He was not simply speaking of what you had done, but of something much larger—something ancient and eternal, a connection between the two of you that stretched beyond this moment, beyond this battle. You opened your eyes, meeting his gaze. Your tears, which had been threatening to spill from the moment you’d seen him lying there broken and bloodied, finally fell freely down your cheeks. You didn’t wipe them away. Instead, you allowed them to fall, as if they could wash away the fear and pain that had consumed you.

What you saw when you looked at him made your heart race. Color had returned to his cheeks. His breathing was steady now, the horrible wound that had once bled so freely was no longer spilling blood, its jagged edges sealed by the light that still radiated from you. The warmth of his skin had returned, and his pulse was strong under your hand. He was alive, and he was whole again, thanks to you. His trembling hand, weak but determined, lifted from the ground. It hovered for a moment, and then he reached toward you. His fingers brushed against your hair, still glowing as though the sun had found its way into the night. His touch was light, reverent, as if he feared disturbing the miracle that was unfolding between you. “You are a miracle,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, a tremor in his voice that betrayed the depth of his gratitude. “A gift to this world… and to me.” The words hung between you, and in them, you could feel the weight of his admiration, his awe. His gaze locked onto yours, unshakable in its depth. There was no fear in his eyes now, no uncertainty. Only gratitude, and something else—something far more vulnerable.

“I owe you my life.” You shook your head, a smile spreading across your tear-streaked face, but there was no joy in it. Only the release of tension, the knowing that you had saved him, and the overwhelming relief that washed over you. “You owe me nothing, Glorfindel,” you murmured softly, your voice barely more than a whisper in the stillness of the moment. “Just… stay with me. That’s all I ask.” His chest rose and fell, and his breathing, still labored but much more controlled, slowed further as his hand found yours. His touch was warm, a stark contrast to the coldness that had once lingered in his skin. He covered your hand with his, the tremble in his fingers a reminder of the battle he had fought, the battle he had almost lost. But now, as he looked at you, he seemed resolute, as though this bond between you, forged in the fire of near-death, was unbreakable. “I will,” he promised, his voice soft but steady, despite the lingering exhaustion in his voice. “I will stay, for as long as I can, beside you.”

The words were simple, but they carried the weight of a vow. You felt the truth in them, deep within your soul. He would stay, not just because of what you had done for him, but because of the connection between you, the bond that had formed in this moment. And as you looked around, the battlefield—the carnage, the horror, the screams that still echoed in the distance—faded into the background. It didn’t matter anymore. It was just the two of you now, amidst the wreckage of the world, and the light that still pulsed gently from you, wrapping around you both like a shield. In that moment, time seemed to stretch. There was no past, no future—only the present. The light between you both, and the feeling that, somehow, something far greater than a battle had been won here. It was a bond that transcended the world of the living, a connection forged in the light of the stars, in the shared breath of survival. And no matter what came next, that bond would remain, as enduring as the light of the stars themselves.

💍𝓒𝓮𝓵𝓮𝓫𝓻𝓲𝓶𝓫𝓸𝓻

The forge was a living entity, its heat and rhythm pulsing in the very air, the crackling fire and the sound of ringing metal filling the stone chambers of Eregion’s smithy. Celebrimbor, ever the perfectionist, stood at his anvil, sweat beading on his brow, his brow furrowed in concentration. The mithril before him glowed a fierce white as he hammered it with steady force, shaping it into the intricate design he had envisioned for days. His movements were fluid, practiced—each strike of the hammer precise, each moment more focused than the last. The world around him seemed to fade as the forge consumed his attention entirely. His thoughts, too, were consumed by the work before him; every detail needed to be just right, every line, every curve of the metal as flawless as the vision he held in his mind. The flames swirled around the smithy, lighting the air with a fierce heat, but it did not bother him. His long years of crafting had trained him to ignore the burn of the forge. His hands, though slightly trembling from the intensity of his work, never faltered. There was no room for weakness. Yet, in his single-minded dedication, he failed to notice the dangerous proximity of the sharp edge of the mithril. It had been a fleeting moment—a miscalculation too small for anyone but the sharpest eye to catch—but it was enough.

As he brought the hammer down one more time, the edge of the glowing metal slipped beneath his forearm, cutting through the skin with a clean slice. For a heartbeat, there was no reaction. No pain, just the realization that the strike had missed its mark. He continued on, moving to adjust the metal, only when the sting began to spread did he finally look down. Blood, bright and stark against the white of the mithril, seeped from the wound, dripping onto the stone floor in slow, steady drops. The sharp pain was almost secondary to the shock that washed over him. It was not the injury that had him concerned, but the feeling of weakness that it brought with it. He grimaced as he lifted his arm, glancing at the cut. It was deep—perhaps too deep to ignore—and yet, he had no time for such things. His mind immediately returned to the work before him, that insatiable desire to finish what he had started, to craft something of worth.

“It’s nothing,” he muttered to himself, the words coming out like a practiced mantra. “Truly, nothing.” His voice, steady but tinged with a faint annoyance, seemed more to reassure himself than anyone else. He wiped the blood from his arm with a slow, deliberate motion, as though he were removing an insignificant speck from his sleeve. But the flow did not stop. The blood continued to pour from the wound, soaking his sleeve, dripping onto the floor in a pool of red. The work needed to be finished, that was all he could think. Yet, with every passing moment, his strength seemed to drain away, the world around him becoming distant and faint. His fingers began to shake slightly, his grip on the hammer faltering. There was no denying it—he was weakening. But it didn’t matter. Not now. The sound of the hammer striking the metal slowed, the clangs growing more muted in his ears. His eyes clouded for a moment, the sharp sting of dizziness creeping in at the edges of his vision. He glanced at his arm once more. Blood still seeped, darkening the stone beneath him. It was then that he heard the door open behind him. Footsteps approached rapidly, the sound of your voice breaking through the fog in his mind.

But there was a strange buzzing in his ears now, a sudden discomfort creeping in. The sight of the blood, the steady trickle pooling on the ground beneath him, sent an odd shiver down his spine. Still, he did nothing. His focus remained on the mithril, on the task that needed finishing. The fire raged on, the hammer fell, and the world outside his forge seemed to fade away. It wasn’t until he heard the familiar sound of your voice—sharp, commanding—that the haze of his concentration was broken. Celebrimbor barely registered your voice as it cut through the haze surrounding him, but the urgency in it jolted him out of his single-minded reverie. His focus had been so consumed by the forge, by the hammer in his hand, that everything else had seemed insignificant. But now, as you rushed to his side, the reality of his injury set in, and he felt his breath catch in his throat. His arm, still dripping with blood, had become the center of his awareness. It was a burning, sharp pain now, and he could feel the weakness creeping through his body like a creeping tide. The forge no longer seemed as important as it had moments ago. His grip on the hammer faltered once again.

You stood in the doorway for just a heartbeat, taking in the scene—the pools of blood collecting on the stone floor, the pale color of his face, the shaking hand he was trying to steady. Your heart clenched in your chest. It was only then that you noticed the dimming of his usual light, the way his posture slumped just slightly, his strength ebbing away. “Celebrimbor! Sit down—now!” you commanded, rushing forward without a second thought. His stubbornness would not win this time. His amber eyes flickered toward you, but he made no move to comply, instead waving you off with a half-hearted gesture, his voice weak and dismissive. “It’s nothing, truly. There is still much to be done—”

“No,” you snapped, firm in your resolve. You moved swiftly to his side, your hands finding his uninjured arm, guiding him to a nearby bench. His muscles resisted the pull for a moment, his pride making him hesitate, but you were too quick. You helped him sit, your voice gentle yet commanding. “You are not doing anything more until I’ve seen to this.” His eyes met yours with that familiar mix of pride and reluctance, yet the deep furrow in his brow betrayed the discomfort he could no longer ignore. As you knelt before him, your heart pounded in your chest, but there was no hesitation in your hands. With a quiet, steady motion, you placed Celebrimbor’s bloodied arm carefully in your lap, your fingers lightly brushing against his skin. The sensation was immediate: his skin, pale from blood loss, felt heavy in your grasp, the warmth of his body seeping into you. The blood that stained his forearm was a stark contrast to the paleness, and your breath caught as you took in the severity of the injury. The gash was deep—too deep to be ignored, and the blood kept flowing despite the distraction of the forge’s heat and the constant hum of the fire.

His expression, always so controlled, now wavered between pride and silent discomfort, but he remained steadfast, refusing to acknowledge the toll the injury had taken on him. He had borne it so stoically, even as his strength drained. But now, with his arm cradled in your lap, he could no longer avoid the truth: the wound was too serious to ignore any longer. You could feel the weakness seeping from him, and it made your resolve harden. Swallowing the rising tide of concern that threatened to overwhelm you, you pushed the fear aside, focusing on the task ahead. This had gone on long enough. His life was more important than his pride, more important than the work that still lay unfinished at his anvil. You would not allow him to lose any more of his strength, not when you could help. With gentle hands, you began to lift your hair, your fingers instinctively twining it around his wound. Your hair, which had always been of a deep, earthy shade, began to shift in hue, responding to the energy that pulsed within you. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, it began to glow with a soft golden light, the strands shimmering with warmth. The golden glow seemed to pulse with each breath you took, each note of the healing song you began to hum. The moment the light appeared, it spread outward like sunlight filtering through the canopy of trees. The glow intensified, slowly creeping up his arm as your hair flowed around the gash. The sensation was like a soft breeze, gentle but insistent, and the heat of the forge seemed to retreat before it. You closed your eyes for a brief moment, gathering the energy within you, feeling the pull of the magic rise and coil in your chest. You began to sing, your voice soft, but every word of the melody carrying a power that resonated deep in the chamber.

“Flower, gleam and glow. Let your power shine. Make the clock reverse. Bring back what once was mine. Heal what has been hurt. Change the Fates’ design. Save what has been lost. Bring back what once was mine. What once was mine…”

Your voice was steady, carrying each note like a delicate thread of power, winding through the air, threading through the forge’s heat and noise. The golden light of your hair flared brighter with each line of the song, as if your very soul was calling upon the magic that coursed through you, unraveling the injury. The air around you seemed to hum, and as you sang, you felt the light seep into the gash. Celebrimbor’s breath caught at the sensation—the warmth of it, the gentle pull as the wound began to knit itself back together. His muscles relaxed, his posture straightening slightly as the pain, the weakness, the overwhelming dizziness that had been consuming him faded in the face of the power you wielded. It was a soothing energy, as though the very fabric of time and fate were unraveling, returning things to their proper place. The blood, which had been spilling out in slow, steady drips, began to retreat, as though the wound itself had forgotten its purpose. The skin, raw and torn, began to smooth out, the edges drawing together with delicate precision, the fibers weaving themselves back into place. The deep cut closed slowly, as if under the pull of an invisible thread, each layer of tissue, each torn vein gently weaving itself back to its original form. With every note you sang, the wound became smaller, the gap between flesh closing with a soft sigh, as if the body itself was yielding to your magic. The golden light seemed to cascade around his arm, weaving into the skin and leaving no trace of the injury behind. The warmth of your power radiated outward, filling the room, and in the air around you, the faint smell of blooming flowers seemed to mix with the crisp scent of the forge. As the last notes of the song fell from your lips, the wound was gone entirely. No trace of it remained. His skin was smooth and unblemished, as though it had never been marred by the sharp edge of mithril. You let out a quiet breath, the golden light beginning to fade from your hair as the magic settled, a soft and satisfied hum of energy still humming through your fingertips.

Celebrimbor’s breath hitched as the warmth of your healing magic settled over him. At first, it was faint—a gentle pull, like a distant breeze against his skin. Then the sensation grew stronger, spreading through him with a comfort he hadn’t realized he needed. He felt it more than saw it, the shift in his body, the deep gash on his forearm starting to pull together as though time itself had taken pity on him. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from the wound, watching in stunned silence as the blood ceased to flow, as the skin he had torn in his own ignorance began to close. It was slow at first—an almost imperceptible change—but then, with a subtle yet undeniable force, the wound began to heal in front of his very eyes. He felt it, too—the tension in his arm releasing, the strength returning as the flesh knitted itself back together. The sensation was surreal, unlike any healing he had ever known. It was as if the very fabric of reality bent to your will, undoing the injury with such ease it seemed like a dream.

But it wasn’t just the healing that struck him. It was the power behind it, the power that you wielded with such grace. There was no violence in it, no struggle. It was delicate and precise, a mastery that far surpassed even the most intricate designs he had crafted in his own smithy. It was the kind of power that was as quiet as it was awe-inspiring, like a force of nature woven into being with every note you sang. As the last tendrils of light faded from your hair, Celebrimbor tested his arm, flexing it slowly, almost cautiously at first. His fingers twitched, his hand extending fully as if he were reacquainting himself with the sensation of strength. He expected some lingering ache, some remnant of the injury to persist—but there was nothing. The wound had vanished completely, leaving no scar, no trace of what had once been there. It was as though the injury had never existed at all. He inhaled sharply, a quiet gasp of awe escaping him as he flexed his arm again, feeling the full range of motion return to him. There was nothing—no mark, no weakness. It was as if his body had forgotten the pain entirely, as if it had never been hurt.

“This…” His voice was soft, reverent, as he spoke to you for the first time in this way—without the usual stoic calm or the sharp edge of arrogance. “This is no ordinary healing.” He looked down at his arm once more, running his fingers over the smooth, unblemished skin, still unable to fully believe it. His voice dropped a little lower, tinged with awe. “It’s as though you’ve turned back time itself, undoing what should have left its mark.” His amber eyes shifted to meet yours, and the intensity of his gaze made something inside you flutter. There was something more than gratitude there—something deeper, more profound. He was humbled by what you had done, and for the first time, it wasn’t just the perfection of the work that stood before him, but something more vulnerable. “Your power… It’s a gift unlike anything I have ever seen,” he murmured. “A creation far beyond anything I could forge.”

Celebrimbor’s voice faltered slightly, the usual confidence of the lord of Eregion giving way to a rare humility. He swallowed, his throat tight, but the words came out with sincere weight. “Thank you,” he said, quieter than before, the words heavy with a reverence that went beyond the mere healing of his body. “I… I didn’t know such power existed.” There was a pause, a stillness between the two of you, as his gaze softened, almost as if he were seeing you for the first time. The walls of pride and stoicism that had always separated him from others seemed to crumble in the face of your care and the magic you had shared. You felt it—the silent gratitude that filled the space between you. Your heart stirred with something that went beyond duty, something deeper and more connected than just the role you had played in this moment. You reached out then, your fingers brushing gently over his uninjured arm, a quiet, reassuring touch that said more than words ever could. It was a gesture of comfort, of solidarity, and as you did, you felt his own quiet relief settle into the air around you. “Rest, Celebrimbor,” you said, your voice a calm counterpoint to the storm of emotions swirling between the two of you. “The forge will still be there when you’re well. You can finish your work later.”

Celebrimbor nodded slowly, but his gaze didn’t leave yours. The stubborn, determined smith who had so often placed his craft above all else seemed to pause in this moment, allowing himself to yield to something softer, more human. His usual defiance had softened into something more gentle, more understanding. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he was not the master smith, nor the lord of Eregion. He was simply Celebrimbor—grateful, humbled, and moved by the quiet strength you had offered him when he had nothing left to give. He met your gaze once more, the intensity of his amber eyes now laced with something new—a silent acknowledgment of your bond, forged not in metal but in something more enduring, more ethereal. “Thank you,” he repeated, this time with more finality, as though the words themselves were a weight he had carried too long, and finally, he could lay them down. His voice softened further. “I will not forget this.” And in that moment, with the forge still burning bright behind him, you knew the connection between the two of you had shifted. It was no longer just the craftsman and the healer. It was something deeper, something beyond the realms of creation and restoration, something that would remain long after the last sparks of the forge had faded.

��� 𝓔𝓵𝓻𝓸𝓷𝓭

The sun was beginning its descent over the hills, casting long golden beams across the forest floor. Elrond moved quietly among the trees, his senses alert to the subtle rustling of the leaves and the faint calls of birds in the distance. He had come to the border of Rivendell in search of rare herbs—specifically a plant known for its healing properties, something that would be vital to his work as both a healer and protector of his people. The forest was peaceful, as it usually was, with the scent of pine and earth mingling in the air. The soft crunch of his boots on the path was the only sound to break the stillness. His mind was focused on the task, hands deftly pulling herbs from the soil and tucking them carefully into his satchel. His robes, though elegant, were suited for the task—woven with the practicality that came from years of experience. Despite the peaceful surroundings, Elrond’s instincts remained sharp. He knew that even in the quietest of places, danger could lurk. It was in the midst of his careful work, kneeling beside a patch of delicate, silver-leafed plants, that he first sensed it. A sudden shift in the air, the faintest disturbance that tugged at his heightened senses. His gaze darted upwards, narrowing as his keen ears caught the faintest sound—a rustle, too heavy to be wind.

A crackling sound broke the quiet—branches snapping under heavy boots—and before he could turn, the ambush came. A dozen orcs emerged from the underbrush, weapons drawn and eyes gleaming with malice. Elrond’s instincts kicked in immediately, his body moving before his mind could even fully process the danger. He drew his sword, the hilt cool in his hand as he met the charge with the precision and speed that came from centuries of battle experience. The first orc that lunged at him was met with a swift slash of his blade, cutting through armor and flesh with ease. He spun, parrying another blow and then ducked to avoid a crude axe swinging toward his head. His mind was a whirlwind of strategy and quick decisions, but despite his skill, the odds were against him. Another orc came at him with a heavy club raised high, but Elrond was faster. He sidestepped the attack, sweeping his blade through the air with precision, and the orc crumpled to the ground, its life extinguished in an instant. Another rushed at him from the side, a jagged axe raised above its head, but Elrond parried the strike with ease, spinning to deliver a quick thrust to the orc’s throat. The force of the blow sent the creature sprawling to the ground. His movements were fluid, controlled—his sword a blur as he fought back the onslaught of attackers. The orcs were relentless. Elrond could feel the weight of their numbers pressing in, could hear the angry yells and the crashing of their weapons against his own. He was skilled, faster than they were, and for every orc he felled, two more seemed to appear. His thoughts were sharp, calculating—he knew he had to make this quick before they overwhelmed him. But he hadn’t anticipated how fiercely they would fight. Their numbers were overwhelming, and soon he found himself surrounded.

Orcs swarmed from every angle, and for every one he felled, two more took their place. His sharp elven senses could detect the shift in the air, the smell of their rancid breath, but they were closing in fast. It wasn’t long before a sharp pain struck him—an orc had managed to slip through his defenses and had driven a jagged blade into his side. The world tilted for a moment, and Elrond staggered back, his breath catching. The wound was deep, a gash that tore through his ribs, and blood flowed freely from the injury, soaking his robes. He gritted his teeth against the pain, his mind whirling even as his body screamed at him to stop. But stopping was not an option. He was Elrond, the Lord of Rivendell, and no matter the wound, he would not fall to these creatures. With a forceful grunt, he shifted his weight, his hand tightening around the hilt of his sword. The orc who had struck him fell with a quick, decisive strike to its neck. He barely had time to process it before another orc lunged, and this time he was ready. Elrond spun, his blade slashing across the creature’s chest, and then he turned, cutting down another. His movements were swift, lethal, but the pain in his side grew worse with each swing. The blood loss was beginning to cloud his thoughts, and his vision swam in and out of focus.

His body was already starting to betray him. The wound was far worse than he had initially realized, and with each passing moment, he grew weaker. Despite the pain, he fought on, cutting down orc after orc, his sword flashing in the dim light of the forest, his movements a testament to the centuries of training and experience he had amassed. But there were too many of them. An orc with a spiked mace swung at him from behind, and though Elrond tried to dodge, the weapon caught him across the back, sending a shockwave of pain through his spine. He let out a sharp cry of pain, staggering forward, and that was all it took for one of the creatures to take advantage of the moment. A sword pierced through the side of his abdomen, the blade sinking deep, its hilt pressing against his ribs. For a brief, heart-stopping moment, Elrond couldn’t move. His body froze, pain wracking through him in waves, and the world around him seemed to blur. He heard the orcs laughing, their victory just within reach, but he couldn’t allow that to happen.

With a primal growl, he forced himself to move again, his sword sweeping through the air in a deadly arc. He struck down the orc that had wounded him, but his legs were growing weaker, the blood loss too much to ignore. The forest was full of bodies now—his and theirs. He had slain many, but not enough. Elrond staggered back, his vision blurring even more. His breaths came shallow and ragged, and he could feel the life draining from him. He fought to stay conscious, but the pain in his side was overwhelming, and the sight before him became a haze of shadowed figures. He felt his knees buckle, the weight of his injuries too much for him to bear. Desperation clawed at his mind as he fought to stay upright, but the ground beneath him seemed to shift and sway as most orcs fleed after the bloodshed of their kins. Finally, he could no longer stand. The sheer exhaustion of the fight, the blood loss, and the overwhelming pain brought him to his knees. He leaned against a boulder for support, gasping for air, the weight of the world pressing down on him. His hand still clutched the hilt of his sword, but his fingers were growing numb, slipping from the handle as the darkness crept in.

The forest was eerily quiet, the air thick with the scent of blood and the rustling of leaves in the breeze. Elrond had fought fiercely, but the ambush had been more than he expected. The sharp pain in his abdomen was a constant reminder of how outnumbered he had been. His robe, once pristine, was now soaked in his own blood, the crimson staining his once-elegant attire. Despite the agony gnawing at him, his grip on his sword remained firm, his resolve unshaken. He had slain many of the orcs, their bodies now lying in the scattered chaos of the battlefield, but the damage to his own body was far worse than he had anticipated. He had managed to drag himself to the cover of a boulder, leaning against it for support. The ground beneath him was stained with blood, both his own and that of his fallen enemies. His mind swirled with the haze of pain, but his sharp Elven senses remained alert—just enough to hear the faint crunch of footsteps approaching. His heart gave a slight flutter when he recognized the familiar presence before he even saw them. “Elrond!” Your voice broke through the fog of his pain, the sound of it pulling him back to the present. He turned his head toward you, struggling to focus on your face through the mist of exhaustion. His chest heaved with every breath, and though his vision was blurred, there was no mistaking the concern in your eyes.

Recognition flared in his greyish blue gaze, but he was too weak to hold his usual noble composure. He offered you the faintest of smiles, though it was laced with pain. His mouth was dry, his voice barely a rasp. “They ambushed me,” he said, each word drawing a strained breath from his chest. “I managed to drive them off… most of them, anyway. A few fled…” He winced, his hands pressing harder against the gaping wound on his side. The blood soaked his fingers, slipping through them like water, yet he didn’t release his hold. He had always been stubborn, never willing to show weakness, even now. But you could see through it all. His breathing was shallow, his face pale, his strength waning with each passing second. The sight of him in such a state ignited a fierce need to protect him, even though you knew he would fight against it. You rushed to his side without hesitation, fear pooling in your stomach. You knew he would try to resist, and sure enough, as you knelt beside him, his eyes flickered with the sharpness that usually accompanied his wisdom and strength. “You shouldn’t speak,” you said, your voice shaking but firm. “You’ve lost too much blood.” Elrond grimaced at your words, but there was no way to hide the growing pain from his features. His body, though still so strong, was betraying him. “I’ll be fine,” he protested, his voice barely more than a whisper. His stubbornness flared even in the face of imminent danger. “I’ve had far worse,” he insisted, though the strain in his tone told a different story. “You shouldn’t—”

“Stop arguing,” you cut him off, your voice trembling but resolute. “Let me help you.” He hissed in pain as you gently moved his hands away from the wound. Despite his weakened state, Elrond’s natural instinct was to resist. He attempted to sit up straighter, his muscles tense and his face contorting with the effort. “No,” he managed, but the protest was weak, forced. His resistance made your heart ache, but you weren’t deterred. You placed your hands over his injury, feeling the warmth of his blood against your palms as you carefully applied pressure to stem the flow. The force of the blood was appalling—his injury was severe, and the pressure was more than you could have imagined. Elrond’s breath caught in his throat as he flinched at the touch, his body shuddering with pain. “Mellon nín,” he whispered, the word slipping from his lips without thought, laced with a faint trace of vulnerability he so rarely allowed himself. Despite his obvious suffering, you refused to relent. His stubbornness might have caused him to resist your help, but your resolve was far stronger. You could see the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, but it wasn’t enough to overpower the pain that was steadily draining him. You continued your work, applying more pressure, your hands steady and soothing as best as you could manage.

“Please, Elrond,” you said, your voice barely more than a whisper now, your heart aching at the sight of him in such a vulnerable state. “You’re going to be alright.” For a moment, his fierce will faltered. His eyes softened, his breath a little less ragged as he allowed you to help him, though the weight of his pride still lingered in the air. He no longer argued, but the quiet, lingering pain was evident in every sharp breath he took. You could feel his body slowly sinking against you, the last of his strength draining away as you worked to heal him. As you held him, you could feel the weight of his trust—fragile and fleeting in this moment of weakness. Though Elrond was many things, the most powerful and indomitable being in all of Middle-earth, there was no escaping the vulnerability that now clung to him. You would not allow him to face this alone, no matter how much he tried to push you away. You had no idea how long you sat there together, the minutes stretching into what felt like eternity, but you wouldn’t leave him. Not now. Not when he needed you most.

You could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on you, but there was no hesitation. Elrond’s life hung in the balance, and you were determined not to lose him. Carefully, you wrapped strands of your hair—normally (your hair colour), silky, and unassuming—around the jagged wound on his side. The blood seeped through the strands, staining them red, but it was the only way to stop the bleeding long enough for what needed to come next. It was a sacrifice, but the pain was nothing compared to what he had endured. Elrond winced, a sharp breath escaping him as you secured your hair against his injury, but he didn’t resist. His Greyish blue eyes watched you with a mix of admiration and quiet acceptance, his body sagging against the boulder. The pain had taken its toll on him, yet he still carried that glimmer of pride in the way he met your gaze—stubborn, unyielding, even in his moment of weakness. His breath came in shallow gasps, but there was a quiet strength in the way he endured it, even as his life force threatened to ebb away. He had fought so fiercely to protect Rivendell, to protect all of you, and now it was your turn to save him.

Once the hair was securely wrapped, you took a moment to center yourself. You inhaled deeply, steadying your breath, willing your heart to calm. The air around you seemed to pulse with anticipation as the power within you began to stir, the magic that ran through your veins, ancient and full of purpose. You couldn’t help but feel the weight of it—the responsibility of wielding such power, the knowledge that it could be the difference between life and death. But you were ready. You began to sing, the first notes soft and barely audible, yet they carried the weight of centuries of knowledge and power. “Flower, gleam and glow…” Your voice was low, but clear, and as the words left your lips, something changed. A soft golden light began to pulse in your hair, at first faint, then growing brighter with every word. The strands of your hair, once dark, shimmered and gleamed, becoming a brilliant gold that seemed to draw the very essence of light into the forest. Elrond’s eyes widened as he watched the glow, his breath catching for a moment. The warmth in the air was palpable now, radiating outward from you like the very sun itself. It wrapped around both of you, filling the air with an almost tangible sense of peace. The dark, shadowed forest was bathed in golden light, the magic swirling around you, washing over Elrond’s injury, soothing it, and slowing the blood that had soaked your hair.

“Let your power shine,” you continued, the melody lilted with power. Each word became a prayer, a plea, not just for him, but for all that you held dear. The golden glow spread across Elrond’s wound, the warmth wrapping around him like a blanket, easing the tension in his body. He inhaled deeply, the sharp pain in his side receding, the frantic pulse of his heart slowing to a steadier rhythm. The gash, so raw and ragged just moments before, seemed to soften under your touch, the flesh beginning to pull itself together, knitting and mending as if the magic were pulling time itself backward, erasing the damage done. His hand, which had been pressed tightly against his injury in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding, relaxed slightly. His fingers twitched with the faintest of tremors, but there was a glimmer of relief in his eyes as the glow bathed him. The pain that had been overwhelming him moments before began to fade, replaced by a soothing warmth that spread from the wound out through his entire body. His breath deepened, the tension in his shoulders slowly melting away.

“Make the clock reverse. Bring back what once was mine…” Your voice was stronger now, your heart pouring into each note, the golden light that surrounded you pulsing in time with the rhythm of your song. Elrond’s breath became steadier, the color returning to his face as the injury slowly but surely began to close. You could feel the magic working, could see the visible relief in his posture as the torn flesh mended itself under the influence of your power. His eyes, which had been clouded with pain, were now focused, sharp, and full of something else—something like wonder. His lips parted, as if he were about to speak, but no words came. The glow from your hair brightened, filling the air with warmth, and the last of the blood began to congeal, sealing the wound completely. What had once been torn and open was now smooth, the skin unbroken. The gold in your hair dimmed slightly, the intensity of the glow tapering as the magic settled, its work done. “Save what has been lost… Bring back what once was mine…” The final note lingered in the air, a soft sigh of energy that hummed through the stillness of the forest. Your body felt lighter now, the strain of the magic beginning to subside, but the relief that filled you was overwhelming. You had done it. You had saved him. The golden light slowly faded, leaving you both in the quiet aftermath, the only evidence of the healing a slight shimmer around you.

When the golden light finally faded, leaving only a soft, lingering warmth in the air, you opened your eyes. Elrond was still there, sitting before you, his expression unreadable for a moment as his gaze fell to his now-healed abdomen. His fingers hovered hesitantly over the smooth, unbroken skin, as though he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened. The jagged wound that had threatened his life only moments before was completely gone, leaving no trace of the violence it had endured. His hand moved over the area with slow reverence, as if testing the reality of it. You watched him in silence, your heart still racing from the exertion of the healing. The soft glow that still clung to your hair, though faint now, seemed to intensify under his gaze. Your cheeks flushed beneath the weight of his scrutiny. It was a feeling you weren’t entirely used to—being the subject of such intense attention, especially from someone like him. Someone whose presence alone was always powerful, commanding. You had saved him, but now it felt as though he were seeing you in a way he hadn’t before. His voice broke the stillness, low and filled with awe.

Elrond’s eyes met yours, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the faintest smile touched his lips. It was weak, but it held gratitude, something far rarer for him than you ever expected. Slowly, he sat up straighter, the last remnants of pain melting away with each breath he took. His skin still glistened with the healing warmth, the tension in his body ebbing as his strength returned bit by bit. The once fierce exhaustion that had weighed on him now seemed to lift, leaving behind only a quiet, steady relief. “You… you saved me.” His words were soft, almost a whisper, as though speaking them aloud might somehow shatter the moment. His fingers brushed over his abdomen once more, the disbelief in his touch evident. He looked at you, really looked at you now, as if seeing you for the first time, his grey eyes wide with quiet wonder.

There was a weight in the air, thick with the magic that had passed between you, but it wasn’t the kind of weight that pressed down. Instead, it seemed to pull the world into sharper focus—the rustling leaves, the cool breeze, the distant sound of the stream, all of it faded into the background as Elrond’s gaze locked onto you. It was as though, in that moment, nothing else existed but the two of you. Your heart stuttered in your chest as you tried to look away, uncomfortable with the intimacy of his attention, but you couldn’t. You found yourself rooted in place, caught under the gentle force of his unwavering focus. He looked down again at your hair, glowing faintly in the dim light of the forest, its soft golden hue almost ethereal against the dark backdrop of the woods. The way he looked at you, so intently, made you feel exposed, vulnerable. It was as if the very essence of who you were was laid bare under his gaze.

Before you could say anything, Elrond reached out. His movements were slow, measured, as though he wanted to ensure that nothing he did would break the fragile moment between you. His fingers brushed lightly against a stray strand of your glowing hair, pushing it gently behind your ear. The touch was so soft, so delicate, that it made your breath hitch in your throat. It was the first time you had ever felt his touch, and it lingered in the air long after his fingers had left your skin. The weight of it was profound, a silent acknowledgment of something deeper than the healing you had just performed. “Your light…” His voice was reverent, like a prayer whispered in the presence of something sacred. His eyes never left yours, and his hand, after a moment, dropped back to his side, but there was something different about him now. The tension that had once pulled his features tight in pain was gone, replaced by a softness you hadn’t seen before.

“It is unlike anything I have ever seen.” His words seemed to carry a weight, a recognition that whatever you had done for him transcended the simple act of healing. You had done more than save him from death; you had given him something beyond that. “You bring life where there is death, hope where there is despair.” The quiet sincerity in his tone wrapped itself around you, and you couldn’t help but feel the full impact of what he said. It wasn’t just praise—it was an understanding. He had witnessed the miracle of what you had done, not just with his body, but with the way you wielded your power. He understood the cost of it. He understood what you had given. You swallowed, finding your voice at last, but his words hung in the air like a fragile thread connecting you to him. As much as you wanted to respond, to deflect or downplay his praise, you couldn’t. There was too much truth in what he said, and you felt an overwhelming rush of emotion at his words.

His expression softened even further as he straightened, meeting your eyes with a quiet intensity. His gaze was no longer one of the distant, authoritative figure you had known so well. Now, there was something else there—something personal, intimate, and full of gratitude. “Thank you,” he said, and this time, the words were more than just a polite acknowledgment. There was something in the way he said them that made your heart skip, made everything else fade away. “Not just for my life, but for bringing light to a dark moment. I will not forget this kindness.” The weight of his gratitude was enough to leave you breathless. It wasn’t just his thanks, it was the promise in his words—an understanding that this moment, this act, would not be forgotten. The forest around you seemed to hold its breath in that moment, as though the world itself was pausing to bear witness to the exchange between you. You could feel the sincerity in his words settle deeply in your heart, the bond that had been forged in this shared moment of healing and vulnerability. For a heartbeat, neither of you moved, both caught in the stillness, in the connection that had formed between you—stronger than any magic, more powerful than any words.

[welikeimagines-andfandoms]

I usually have slightly different headcanons for each elf but I feel like this is one that applies to every Tolkien elf.

They absolutely freak out every time their human partner is on their periods. Elf women do get periods but they’re not as often, heavy or painful.

Even if your periods aren’t that painful or heavy, the slightest mention of fatigue, blood, cramp or nausea and they are carrying you back to bed. Good luck doing absolutely anything because they won’t let you.

“I can make my own cup of tea.”

“Nope. Too sweet and delicate, must protect you.”

Carries you to bed and returns like 5 minutes later with every blanket, heat pack, tea and sweet they can find.

It’s so stressful for them but they mean well 😅

[sorcerousundries]

Lalala vs okokok with lotr and the hobbit

Your the lalala, they’re the okokok

Thorin, Fíli, Aragorn, thranduil, Elrond, Arwen, bilbo, gimli, Sam, Éomer, Glorfindel, Bard, Beorn, glóin, Tauriel, Faramir, Boromir, Haldir, Bifur, Dwalin, Balin, Dori, óin, Galadriel

They’re the lalala, your the okokok

Legolas, Frodo, merry, pippin, Éowyn, kíli, celeborn, also Arwen, Lindir, bombur, ori, nori, bofur, meludir

[rivendell-poet]

i absolutely adore ur headcanons posts with the lotr characters but i didn’t know how many characters you take requests for per headcanon post so i’ll keep it very short ehehe

how would the elves (legolas, thranduil, lindir, glorfindel, meludir, haldir and feren) react to human who is just affectionate even before courtship starts? morning hugs, lemme braid ur hair, surprise tackle hugs or see u later forehead kisses? just thought it would be funny to see the elves go beet red with perked up ears since y’know, they’re not as affectionate as humans

thanks so much! (and so sorry for the wait, completely my bad) legit an honour to have you request from me/say you like my works. and I completely agree with the thought being funny, and here it is as headcanons!

(full disclosure, i've written once/not at all for the last three characters - please tell me if they're ooc)

*･༓˚✧ ❝𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫❞ ‧͙⁺˚༓˚✧ « headcanons »

○ Legolas ○ Thranduil ○ Haldir ○ Lindir ○ Meludir ○ Feren ○ Glorfindel ○

GN!Reader | TWs : None | Wordcount : 1.3k

𝐋𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐬

✧ Depends on if he’s travelled with the Fellowship, or if he hasn’t.

✧ Either way he’ll go still for a second, eyes gently going to you as if to check you’re actually doing what you’re doing. And of course there’s a light blush that’s spreading across his face.

✧ He gingerly hugs you back, unsure whether or not to squeeze you in it like you’re squeezing him. And when you give him a little forehead kiss he simply freezes in your arms. 

✧ Wonders, just for a second, if you somehow started courting and he didn’t realise. Then he simply stays there and gives a smile.

✧ It isn’t forced, just slightly uncertain - he’s never experienced this before.

✧ Later comes up to you and awkwardly thanks you before retreating backwards.

✧ If he’s been in the Fellowship for long enough he starts to reciprocate the gestures on a smaller scale.

✧ Legolas can very easily be convinced to braid your hair as well, and he takes it very seriously.

✧ Lays out his cloak so you can sit on the grass. Does a few small ones so you can see which one is preferable.

✧ When you’re not courting he feels a little guilty doing it - as your hair falls through his fingers it’s almost like you are together. And he doesn’t want to take advantage of that. But he likes you too much to stop, and you braid his hair as well.

✧ Is probably the quickest of the elves to get used to it, aside from Glorfindel.

𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐮𝐢𝐥

✧ In an odd way, he’s one of the elves who craves it the most.

✧ Everyone else has some casual touches, a reassuring gesture by a friend. But no-one is brave enough to touch the King of Mirkwood. Until you.

✧ He’s missed warmth, he’s missed the sense of other people that you can now bring.

✧ Thranduil finds himself at first leaning into the hugs, before remembering that he should be proper. That he’s maintained a colder persona for so long. (He still can’t fully hide his reluctance as he pulls away.)

✧ The people who know him well are surprised when he doesn’t admonish you, before they realise why. You don’t understand why the king is suddenly glaring at someone behind you.

✧ Eventually he starts to return the gestures as well, although to start they are more careful.

✧ As begins to braid your hair - the light touches causing some strands to escape and generally become loose - you remind him that you’re not made of glass.

✧ You’ve been able to almost tackle him with a surprise hug, he can touch you with more than a feather-light weight.

✧ Once the two of you start courting he accepts the gestures more easily, although he’ll never become quite as good at spontaneous physical gestures of affection.

✧ Throughout the entire time he remains impressively blush free, although he does tense quite a lot.

𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐫

✧ You’ve seen how the poor elf froze when Aragorn simply hugged him. He’s very unused to gestures like this.

✧ He does like them - or at least, judging by the way he’ll steadily grow red he thinks he does. Or maybe he simply likes you.

✧ You have almost certainly triggered his fight/flight/freeze instinct on more than one occasion with a surprise hug, although he’s getting better at it. There’s a low chuckle, and a small smile when he realises it’s just you.

✧ People being this naturally affectionate is a curiosity to him, but when it comes from you it’s something he’s eager to know more about.

✧ Although the gestures, the small kiss on your forehead in greeting and such, are at first stiff and uncertain he gets better with them.

✧ Half the time when he’s greeting you with a forehead kiss, his lips really want to ask you ‘what are we?’. Or perhaps kiss yours.

✧ Still, Haldir is content to wait for a while. Even if he freezes up, your gestures still mean so much to him.

✧ Things become clearer when you eventually start courting, and all the affection feels more natural to him.

✧ There’s moments where Haldir simply blushes as he stands next to you, but every day the elf becomes more sure of your bond - and gives more expression to it.

𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐫

✧ Also blushes a lot, his breath slightly catching before he tries to amend whatever he’s done. A small cough, or perhaps a bow to you in greeting - a vague hope some of the red will have gone when he comes up again.

✧ How you greet him, the quick kisses or the hugs, pulls him straight into romance stories he hasn’t read (or at least acknowledged reading) since he was a young elfling.

✧ And even then the gestures where between those already together, not like the two of you.

✧ Yet he doesn’t ever draw away, finds his gaze lingering on whatever has occurred.

✧ After the first time you’d braided his hair he’d nervously approached you again, asking if you braid it the following day as well.

✧ What you’re doing is unusual, but he can’t bring himself to care. Even the worries he has about seem to dissipate when you smile at him, or say goodbye with a kiss.

✧ Even after you start courting he still can’t stop his face from blushing horribly. Although he no longer hides it - he’s proud to be that deeply in love with you.

𝐌𝐞𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐫

✧ When you first meet him, your interaction is brief. Not too many words exchanged as he talks to you, and then again as you disappear. Except for ‘goodbye’ kiss you give him.

✧ It’s feather light, but as an elf he could feel it so clearly. The brush of your lips against his skin, the way your eyes had sparkled. How quickly blush had rushed to his cheeks.

✧ Meludir lifts a hand to the spot you touched him, almost as if expecting something. But there is nothing, just the memory of your affection.

✧ Unlike the other elves, he can’t help but try to seek out your affection. Returning a friendly kiss with a gesture of his own, even if he can’t quite bring himself to kiss you back.

✧ There’s always a smile on his face after you’ve done something, big or small, and a sprinkling of blush to accompany it.

𝐅𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧

✧ The first time you do such a gesture to him he’s quite certain that it’s by mistake.

✧ The second time you do it, or something similar, you can see him freeze for a second (trying to process it) before he turns to you. Almost confused, trying to understand why.

✧ Feren eventually just accepts it, although that doesn’t stop him from getting slightly flustered.

✧ As a diplomat the brief kisses, the friendly greetings aren’t too bad. He can adapt, he can get used to this new social interaction. What he can’t get used to is the more intimate gestures of affection.

✧ You truly see him flustered for the first time when you offer to braid his hair. The way he looks to you, words suddenly gone as you smile at him.

✧ It’s also these interactions he craves more than anything else.

𝐆𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐥

✧ There is a small part of you that’s, quietly, intimidated by the golden warrior. But when he laughs with you, a rich, lighter laugh than you expected accompanied by a radiant smile, you realise you have nothing to be afraid of.

✧ Still, the goodbye hug you give him is slightly shy.

✧ There’s a moment where he simply lets you hug him, before he ever-so-gently returns the gesture; careful to be light and to not trap you.

✧ The smile he had on his face is still there when you pull away, which gives you a little more confidence.

✧ And Glorfindel is so happy you have the confidence. He’ll still blush when you’re affectionate, but it’s more because he likes you than he’s embarrassed.

✧ (One exception is the kisses, which do turn his ears red. He still looks forward to them from you, however.)

✧ Will return quite a few of the gestures, although like Thranduil you have to remind him that you’re not made of glass.

A/N : Comes back to drop this fic with no explanation, leaves immediately again- Just kidding. I should be back again, sorry for the long wait; I've been very ill & then my laptop broke, so. 2025 been going... interestingly

« masterlist » thank you for reading *･༓˚✧ Taglist : @celestialhole / @starwars2222 / @xiaoseminence / @withasideofmeg / @nilintakan ✧ wish to be tagged?

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[sh1-n0bu]

saw the simpsons meme and i just KNOW that a certain elf would be the type to joke like it

legolas or glorfindel, turning to their human s/o with drooped ears, holding up a paper: “are you 🍃ing me?”

[name], said human s/o, used to their dramatic ways: no, i’m not leaving you. we’re staying married until we die or set sail to valinor

legolas or glorfindel, quickly scribbling on the back of the paper before showing it to [name] with wiggling ears: “what a re🍃”

[mur4sak1]

How would elves behave during an argument?

A/N: Remember that English is not my first language so I hope I wrote in the best way <3

Characters: Rog, Galdor, Glorfindel, Maedhros, Legolas (bonus)

Rog: guys, this elf would be really scary. Contrary to what you might think, he would lose his temper very easily; he works all day in the darkness of the forges and when he leaves he just wants to have a good rest, so further stress from an argument would drive him out of his mind. He's the typical person who screams without thinking twice and says things he doesn't mean in anger. His way would destroy you every time, making you burst into tears from how bad he made you feel... but as soon as he saw a small tear running down your face he fell silent, forgetting everything that was happening; Was it him who made you like this? He was making the only person who loved him and who had always supported him in his darkest moments cry. He would stay still for some time, with a thousand thoughts in his head when a louder sob from you would bring him back to reality. He would apologize to you but he would do it without meeting your gaze, he is suffering too much for what he did and he wouldn't have the courage to see your destroyed expression. But you knew that he loves you more than anything after all. With difficulty you would get up and hug him as tight as possible, telling him that everything was fine, that you knew he didn't think those things and that you loved him... You couldn't see his face, but a tear fell from his eyes.

Galdor: NOW LET'S ALL GIVE A HUG TO THIS WONDERFUL ELF TOGETHER. He would always try to find a solution peacefully, without discussions and the need to argue, but if this happens you should not fear anything from him. He would NEVER scream, he would NEVER raise his voice, he would NEVER say anything mean to you just to hurt you or win the argument. I mean, it would be fantastic. Maybe due to particular circumstances you would have become so upset that you felt angry against the elf, but in any case he would have spoken to you in a calm and reasonable tone, making you understand that you didn't need to react that way. If the pain brought you to tears, he would hug you and console you like a defenseless child, helping you and trying to get you to vent so that he could fully understand what was troubling you so as to avoid misunderstandings. Galdor would have been able to understand and love you more than anyone else, always.

Glorfindel: It was rare to argue with the blond elf, but sometimes it happened and the situation became quite lively. Glorfindel always tried to keep his problems to himself and not involve others because he was convinced that difficult moments should only be faced with those you love. Furthermore, he certainly wanted to avoid all that useless gossip that many elves had on any topic that might attract their curiosity. Although his character was often extroverted and playful even in the saddest situations for this reason, when he argued with you it wasn't uncommon to hear shouts and snorts coming from your rooms. They would not be screams that expressed malice, but screams that asked to be listened to; it was natural for him to raise his voice when he wasn't listened to and in that way he expressed all his frustration and the pain that the discussion with you was bringing him. He always acted for your good and feeling attacked made him suffer, he wondered what he was doing wrong, what more did you want from him. But the intense mix of emotions inside him prevented him from acting rationally, forgetting how to express them and focusing only on everything you said. After a long time arguing like this you would have reached the point of being exhausted and progressively raising your voice would have left you breathless. You would stop to breathe for a fraction of seconds, with the certainty that everything would soon start again. But after rubbing your eyes, you looked at your elf's face and saw in him all the pain that he was trying to say to you through his tone of voice; his fists were clodes, his head was bowed, his forehead shiny with sweat and a few blond hairs stuck to it. In an instant you understood everything... You breathed a heavy sigh and quickly approached him to hug him, starting to beg him to forgive you and sobbing heavily between one apology and another... Caught off guard, after a few seconds he relaxed his arms and reciprocated the hug. Finally he let himself go to his feelings; he rested his head on your head and the wet of sweat combined with the wetness of a few tears. So he was able to express everything he felt and only at that point would you be able to clarify and return to being happy and in love as always "I just want to always be perfect for you".

Maedhros: I'm sure fights with the red-head would be very peaceful. Having grown up in a large family and in the role of an older brother, he had developed a lot of patience thanks to which he could easily handle any type of conflict with you. Contrary to what many might think, after Angbad Mae would not have vented the pain on you with shouts and insults, but quite the opposite. After the terrible torture he suffered, the only thing he wanted was to feel accepted and in you he found his salvation; in all the darkest moments where his mind couldn't differentiate reality from dreams you were there by his side to help him, without ever making him feel wrong and making him understand how strong he was to have overcome such a trauma. For this reason, he would feel like a terrible elf during arguments. He only wanted to offer you the support that you represented to him every day but instead he felt more like a burden to you. This would make him cry a lot, but in silence and alone, because he feared that with every little clash you would abandon him. He just needed time, time to understand that you would never, ever abandon him; you always told him that you loved him more than anyone else and that he needed your support to be able to return to the sweet, confident elf he once was, and you would do anything to help him. Needless to say, every time the arguments were resolved without even face them... there was too much love that bound your hearts to ruin it for superficial reasons.

BONUS. Legolas: So, I honestly see Legolas as the kind of elf who would be capable of walking away during an argument. Perhaps due to stress, lack of patience or lack of desire for confrontation, he could stop the conversation, pick up and leave the place where you were. But in reality his behavior would be the solution to the problem. In fact, the much anger that you had accumulated would have faded with distance and the passage of time and would have made both of you understand how much you cared for each other. Solitude would have helped Legolas to think clearly about the problem and find a possible solution to make them both happy. When you met again you would have made peace, both apologizing for your abrupt ways and organizing something to spend the evening together.

[themerriweathermage]

Modern AU Headcanons: Elves Reacting to You Being Hospitalized

A/N: I went through a life-threatening illness and had to have major surgery and I'm not really sure how I'm supposed to process that, so here I have a modern AU with the elves reacting to their s/o being hospitalized

Elrond

The half-human part of him is very worried and he drops everything when he hears you’ve been hospitalized

Not always able to make heads or tails of modern medicine but understands the severity of the situation

He’s ready to be on your beck and whim the moment you’re stable, and borderline refuses to leave your side

Very mother-hennish

Glorfindel

Bold of you to assume that Glorfindel isn’t glued to your side before anything ever goes wrong

There to hold your hand at all times, to the point that staff have to ask him to leave

Will not leave the hospital until you’re released, and won’t leave your side until he’s confident you are better

Giant glow teddy bear to cuddle with

Lindir

He’s panicked at first receiving the news that you’ve been hospitalized but quickly composes himself so that he can be there for you

Pre-packs a bag of the things he thinks you might need or want to take with him to visit you

Encourages you during recovery, but also listens to you vent

Offers to sing or play his harp to put your mind at ease

Haldir

The severity of the situation isn’t lost on him with his military background, but that’s as far as it goes

Modern medicine is more difficult for him to make sense of, but he’s more interested in knowing what’s wrong so that he can be detailed in his care of you during your recovery

Understands the importance of having things that are familiar to you during your recovery

There for you but also there to field questions from friends and family about your well-being

[lamemaster]

Things the Silmarillion elves find adorable about a human reader

After surveying the recurring elves of this blog, here are seven things they find adorable about humans:

Waving Greeting

Maedhros froze the first time you did it. Across the military camp, you excitedly waved at him. Raising your arm high, you waved, smiling broadly, and your elf froze in his path. For a fleeting moment, he thought it must be someone else you were so happy to greet. But no. It was him. With unpracticed-stiff movements, he raised his own arm and waved back. He watched as laughter bubbled out of you, and you ran to him, leaving him utterly dumbfounded yet his heart leaping out of his chest.

Baggy Clothing

Glorfindel tries not to stare, but by Elbereth, it is hard. Drowning in his robes, you look utterly adorable. The way the sleeves flow down your arms, completely covering your hands, and how the fabric pools around your feet, it’s enough to make him squeal. He worries briefly that you might trip, but for now, he’s too busy enjoying the sight. Picking you up in his arms, he resists the urge to squeeze you, mindful of the last time he tried and how poorly that ended for him. Still, his heart aches at how endearing you look, swallowed by the robes that were never quite meant for you.

Breathless Laughter

The entire palace can hear it. Yet this does not stop the subtle smile it puts on everyone’s face. Sitting across from you, Finrod watches you wheeze with laughter, clutching your stomach as you fall off your chair. Your face is red, your eyes brimming with tears. “I think I peed a little,” you whisper through giggles as your friend continues laughing uncontrollably. Finrod loves the sight of such unrestrained joy, raw, rugged happiness amid marred lands. How wonderful it must be, he thinks, to express joy so freely.

Apologizing to Inanimate Objects

It’s not the first time Maeglin has seen you do this. Bumping into a corner, you mutter a quick “Sorry,” rubbing your arm as though the object could feel pain. Wooden crates, rocks, curtains, tables, nothing escapes your apologies, and Maeglin secretly adores it. It’s such an absentminded habit, and yet it speaks volumes about your nature. There is, however, one exception: when you stub your toe on something. Then, your mouth lets loose with the vocabulary of a seasoned sailor. Much to his dismay (and secret delight), Maeglin finds even this utterly endearing. But there’s absolutely no way he’s telling you that. He keeps that fondness locked away where you’ll never uncover it.

Love for Blankets

Fingon has trekked across the Helcaraxe. He knows the cold and understands the precious value of warmth. Yet, his appreciation pales in comparison to yours. He absolutely loves your ritual of joy at the sight of your bed. The way you jump into your blankets, rubbing your feet together, scrunching your eyes shut, and giggling. It’s a sight he never tires of. On nights when he gets to witness this, Fingon even mimics your antics, despite not feeling the cold himself. He delights in how you grin and snuggle into him, often followed by your sneaky attempt to press your freezing feet against his. Though he feigns annoyance, he treasures every moment of it.

Physical Touch

Beleg smiles broadly the moment you enter a room. Without fail, your eyes scan the space until they find him, and then you make your way over to sit beside him. Every. Single. Time.

He loves how humans gravitate toward physical closeness, finding contentment in proximity alone. Unlike elves, who feel bonds through senses, heartbeats, or thoughts, you seek him out with pure will. Every time you do, Beleg can’t help but put his arms around you, squeezing you in a way he’s seen you do to him. And when you hum contentedly, he melts just a little more.

Baby Voice

Celegorm can’t help but laugh at the way your voice softens when you bend down to pet Huan. Every time you see the hound, you greet him with exaggerated enthusiasm, “Who’s a goob boy?” Celegorm has, on several occasions, reminded you that Huan is older than your grandfather, older than your entire kind, in fact. Yet this knowledge hasn’t dimmed your excitement one bit. Your bubbly tone, the kisses on Huan’s paws, the endless stream of pets, Celegorm finds it both amusing and endearing. Much to your credit, Huan is completely putty in your hands.

[cambion-companion]

Hugging the Elves (blorbos)

Elrond ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Elrond is a healer, of both body and heart. His home of Rivendell is where those blessed enough to gain entry find refuge for their spirit. Elrond would hug like a father comforting his child, he would wrap you into a secure embrace. He smells like familiar spices and fresh warm cloth as you bury your head against his shoulder. The long sleeves of his robes wrap around your body and offer solace under their weight. He will smile down at you gently, a fond crinkling around his eyes full of wisdom and starlight.

Glorfindel

Sunshine incarnate, Glorfindel's hugs are enthusiastic and don't be surprised if he lifts you into his arms and twirls you around once or twice, especially if he has been on errantry and not seen you for a while. His long golden hair would get in both your faces and he would laugh, bell-like, as he gently brushes it away. He smells of a fresh summer breeze carrying the light scents of flowers and evergreen trees as you press your cheek to his chest. I also see him as being fond of taking your face in his hands, enjoying looking into your eyes and reading your emotions there. When you are in need of comfort be assured Glorfindel will always be ready to offer you a warm embrace as you bask in his glowing presence. His very touch is enough to chase away any creeping darkness from your mind. (yes I am madly in love with him can you not tell)

Arwen

Arwen doesn't hug very many people, so when she opens her arms to you it is a gift indeed. She smells of lilac and midsummer nights spent by the lake under the stars. Her hair is as soft as goose-down and the gossamer of her sleeves slips between your fingers. She holds the back of your head lightly as you lean against her, closing your eyes and enjoying the feel of her chin tucked against your head. Arwen will also peer into your eyes, as they are windows to your soul, and give you a soft understanding smile before engaging you in light conversation and laughter.

Thranduil

(as a brief aside, I do not at all like the characterization of Thranduil in the movies as they turned him into King Thingol of Doriath who is much different in temperament. thus, this will be based on his book self)

Thranduil is regal and guarded, yet he has a warmth about him you have grown accustomed to receiving from the Elves. Like Arwen he does not embrace others readily, but will receive your affection with a broad smile and happy chuckle. His hands placed securely on your upper back as you lean against him, breathing in his scent of juniper berries and pine. This hug will be brief but meaningful and leave you feeling elated and refreshed. He will then invite you to dine with them and perhaps accompany his folk into the forest to dance and frolic to the sound of harpists and singing.

Legolas

Legolas is full of laughter and wit and will accept your hug with joy, squeezing you tight against him as he ruffles your hair about in an affectionate manner. You bury your face into the crook of his neck and inhale the smell of leather and woodsmoke. He will hold you against him for as long as you wish, even rocking you side to side if you remain in his arms for long. When you do pull away Legolas will grasp your forearms and beam at you, making a witty comment, his countenance brightening when you laugh.

Finrod

(Yes, I have to include this golden boy)

The first among Elves to befriend humans, even the first to see them, Finrod has a special place in his heart for his mortal friends. He loves giving and receiving hugs and will wrap you in his arms readily and with reverence. His golden hair tickles your face and he laughs, looking down at you as you scrunch your nose at the sensation. Finrod smells of the ocean winds that form the waves and the carpet of moss that covers forest floors. He is Valinor mixed with Middle Earth, belonging to both and yet neither. There is a sadness to his grip as he brushes a stray hair from your face after you pull away. But as ever with his kin the sadness in his eyes swiftly turns over to mirth and he takes your hand before pulling you along with him to your next adventure.

let me know who else I should write these for!

[doodle-pops]

When You Flirt With Them For Fun

Headcanons: Maedhros, Celegorm, Finrod, Glorfindel, Elrond

Request: [Mixed Selection] May I request headcanons for a flirty human reader with Celegorm, Finrod, Glorfindel, Maedhros and Elrond? Reader is flirting with them but she actually has no romantic interest in them. Genre and being sfw/nsfw don't matter for me - dealer's choice. Thank you in advance!!

A/N: I went with the SFW route that was slightly suggestive, it felt more befitting given the ‘non-romantic interest’ and I was in the mood for a good laugh. This was just a lovely request, anon. Thank you for the request!

Synopsis: When you decide to flirt with them despite being romantically uninterested in them, all for the sake of fun.

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Maedhros

𑁍 You had no idea how you ended up befriending Maedhros, but once you did, you realised something very important: the Eldar were woefully unprepared for human audacity, and Maedhros, in particular, had absolutely no idea what to do with you.

𑁍 “You should smile more,” you told him once, watching as he adjusted his vambrace with that usual, distant intensity. “I bet it’d make all the ladies swoon.”

𑁍 He blinked at you, unimpressed. “I am a Prince of the Noldor. My concerns are not—”

𑁍 “Oh, so you already have them swooning? I should’ve known.” You smirked, tapping a finger against your chin in mock contemplation. “Is it the brooding thing? Or the battle scars? Or maybe it’s the hair—tell me, Maedhros, how many maidens have tried to braid flowers into it?”

𑁍 The strangled noise he made was priceless. It became a game after that. You, being utterly shameless, and Maedhros, being utterly unprepared for someone who flirted without actually meaning it.

𑁍 “Would you catch me if I fell?” you asked once, lounging across a bench like some ancient philosopher contemplating the meaning of life. And Maedhros, ever pragmatic, glanced at you and said, “You are sitting down.”

𑁍 “Hypothetically.”

𑁍 “...I suppose, yes.”

𑁍 “Would you cradle me in your arms and whisper soft reassurances?”

𑁍 “No.”

𑁍 “What if I cried a little?”

𑁍 He closed his eyes, exhaling through his nose like he was summoning every ounce of patience left in his soul. You were his worst nightmare.

𑁍 Once, after a particularly ridiculous exchange, Maglor (who found you endlessly entertaining) finally asked, “Are you actually trying to court my brother?”

𑁍 “Oh, absolutely not,” you replied without hesitation. “I just like to see if I can make him malfunction.” The absolute horror on Maedhros’ face was a thing of beauty.

𑁍 “You are malfunctioning,” Maglor pointed out.

𑁍 “I am not—”

𑁍 “Name one time you’ve reacted normally to them.”

𑁍 Maedhros opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Then just glared at you. “This is entirely your fault.”

𑁍 You gave him a dazzling smile and fluttered your lashes. “And yet, you keep me around. Hmm. Almost like you enjoy my presence.”

𑁍 “I do not,” he lied blatantly.

𑁍 Eventually, Maedhros stopped protesting, but the sighs of long-suffering continued. You were convinced that, despite his protests, he secretly enjoyed your antics. After all, he never once told you to stop.

Celegorm

𑁍 Celegorm first mistook you for a genuine suitor, which was honestly on him. You had flirted outrageously, batting your lashes and trailing your fingers along his arm while calling him ‘my mighty hunter.’ He had puffed up like a peacock, utterly convinced that you had fallen for his rugged charm.

𑁍 “I understand,” he had said gravely one evening, after you had draped yourself over the back of his chair and whispered something about strong hands and archery skill. “It is difficult to resist me.”

𑁍 You nearly choked on your wine. “Oh, you sweet summer child,” you laughed, patting his shoulder. “I just like watching you squirm.”

𑁍 Celegorm sat there, utterly frozen, like a man who had just been hit by a metaphorical wagon. He stared at you, at the sheer audacity, before narrowing his eyes. “You’re playing a dangerous game, human.”

𑁍 “Oh, but you’re so fun to mess with,” you grinned, winking.

𑁍 After that, Celegorm dedicated himself to turning the tables. He flirted back with wild intensity, cornering you in halls with smirks and murmured threats of “revenge.” It became a game, a constant back-and-forth of smouldering looks and ridiculous one-liners. The moment you actually backed off, he huffed in disappointment. “What, giving up already?”

𑁍 “Of course not,” you grinned, sauntering past. “I just like keeping you on edge.”

𑁍 One day, he finally called your bluff, leaning down so close his breath brushed your ear. “You talk big, but I don’t think you could handle me.”

𑁍 You burst into laughter so hard you had to clutch your ribs. “Oh, Tyelko, if I wanted to handle you, I’d have done it already.”

𑁍 He stared. You sauntered away, leaving the great hunter standing there, looking more hunted than ever.

Finrod

𑁍 Finrod had your number from the start. The very first time you tried to lean into him and sigh about how ‘utterly entrancing’ his eyes were, he simply raised a golden brow and smirked. “Oh, is that so?”

𑁍 You pouted. “Must you ruin my fun?”

𑁍 “I would never, but I am curious—do you say this to all elves, or am I special?” he purred, clearly amused.

𑁍 “Oh, you’re special, all right,” you grinned, tapping his chest. “Most elves just blush and stammer. You, however, are proving to be a challenge.”

𑁍 Finrod delighted in the game. He indulged you with little flourishes—offering his hand with an elegant bow, leaning in when you whispered something ridiculous, murmuring things in Quenya just to watch you shiver dramatically and sigh, “Oh, if only I knew what that meant!”

𑁍 “It means, ‘You’re absolutely shameless, and I adore it.’”

𑁍 You gasped, pressing a hand to your heart. “Finrod! And here I thought you were an honourable prince.”

𑁍 “Ah, but honour and amusement are not mutually exclusive,” he grinned.

𑁍 He was insufferable. Worse, he was better at this than you were. One night at a feast, he casually kissed the back of your hand and murmured, “My dear, if you keep looking at me like that, I may start to believe you.”

𑁍 “Oh, don’t do that,” you laughed, squeezing his hand. “I’d hate to break your heart.”

𑁍 “You overestimate your power, my dear,” he chuckled, though his eyes shone with a twinkle.

𑁍 “Oh, do I?” you purred, trailing a finger up his arm. “You wouldn’t be the first elf I’ve made weak in the knees.”

𑁍 “And yet, I am still standing,” he mused. “A mystery indeed.”

𑁍 “Well,” you smirked, “there’s still time.”

Glorfindel

𑁍 Glorfindel was used to admiration. Being a golden-haired, heroic Balrog-slayer tended to make one rather popular. He was not, however, used to your particular brand of shameless flirting.

𑁍 The first time you called him ‘the most devastatingly handsome warrior this side of the sea,’ he nearly choked on his drink. “I beg your pardon?”

𑁍 “Oh, don’t be shy,” you teased, elbowing him. “You know you’re devastatingly handsome. I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking.”

𑁍 He recovered quickly. Too quickly. “Oh? And are you thinking about me often, then?”

𑁍 You grinned. “Only in my most sinful dreams.”

𑁍 Glorfindel coughed. You watched, delighted, as a flush rose high on his cheeks. “You are scandalous,” he muttered, shaking his head.

𑁍 “And you like it,” you sing-songed, linking your arm through his.

𑁍 From that moment on, he was both wary and intrigued. You kept him on his toes, throwing winks and suggestive remarks his way whenever the opportunity arose. One time, after he returned from a sparring match, you fanned yourself dramatically. “By the stars, is it hot in here, or is it just you?”

𑁍 He stared at you, sweat still glistening on his brow. “Do you ever stop?”

𑁍 “Why would I?” you asked, propping your chin on your hand. “You’re such an easy target.”

𑁍 “I am not an easy target,” he huffed, crossing his arms.

𑁍 “Oh, Glorfindel,” you sighed, shaking your head. “You poor, oblivious thing.”

𑁍 One day, he turned the tables on you, cornering you in a hallway and leaning in just close enough that you could feel his breath on your skin. “Tell me, my sweet tormentor,” he murmured, “what would you do if I took your teasing seriously?”

𑁍 You blinked up at him, your brain stalling for a moment before you grinned and placed a finger on his chest. “I’d be very flattered,” you said, trailing your hand down his tunic before giving him a light shove. “But I’d still be messing with you.”

𑁍 Glorfindel groaned, his face forming a grimace. “You are intolerable.”

𑁍 “And yet, you keep coming back,” you sing-songed, winking as you strolled away.

𑁍 He watched you go, muttering something about humans and their wicked ways. But later, when you caught him smiling to himself, you knew he secretly loved every second of it.

Elrond

𑁍 “Lord Elrond,” you greeted with a smile that was all teeth. “I just want to say that you have the most magnificent bone structure I have ever seen. Have you ever considered the impact of your jawline on the mortal population?”

𑁍 Elrond, to his credit, barely reacted. “No, I have not.”

𑁍 “Tragic. I fear you underestimate its power.” He did not dignify that with a response.

𑁍 It became a sport after that. You flirted. He ignored you. You got more ridiculous. He remained completely, frustratingly composed.

𑁍 “Do you ever get tired of being the most attractive person in the room?” you asked one day, chin in hand, watching him review some diplomatic scrolls.

𑁍 “No,” he replied absently, eyes still scanning the parchment. “It is a burden I have learned to bear.”

𑁍 You choked on your drink. “Oh—so you do have a sense of humour!”

𑁍 His lips twitched, and you swore, just for a second, you saw a glimmer of amusement in those grey eyes.

𑁍 He got his revenge once. You had leaned in far too close, examining his ever-stoic features like some fine work of art, when he turned his head abruptly and murmured, “You are staring, my friend. Do you wish to kiss me?”

𑁍 You jerked back so fast you nearly fell out of your chair. “No!”

𑁍 “Ah,” he said, entirely unbothered, turning back to his scrolls. “How unexpected.”

𑁍 Sometimes, the elves who served him gave you looks of sheer disbelief. You were speaking to Elrond Peredhel, leaning casually against his desk and saying things like, “What if I wrote you a love poem?”

𑁍 “Please do not.”

𑁍 “Too late, I’ve already started. ‘O Elrond, fairest of the fair, with hair like—’ ”

𑁍 “No.” You could almost see him regretting ever acknowledging your presence.

𑁍 Glorfindel, who had been watching the entire ordeal with great amusement, leaned over and whispered, “I have never seen him so consistently harassed before. You are a marvel.”

𑁍 “Thank you,” you said, preening.

𑁍 And yet, despite all his sighs and why must you do this looks, Elrond never once dismissed you. If anything, you sometimes caught him glancing at you with that small, knowing smile of his, like he found you far more entertaining than he’d ever admit.

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[n0tamused]

How elves deal or even feel jealous? What/how easy is to make them jealous?

A/n: Hello, yes I can! You didn't specify which elves you wanted this for, so I just picked a few of the ones I thought would go nicely with this idea. Also, I am trying these different styles of hcs, so let me know if you prefer lenghtier headcanons or shorter ones like these? I'm trying to find some balance with requests and my ability to write them in time.

Contents: (all separate) Thranduil, Legolas, Lindir, Haldir, Glorfindel x GN! Reader. Jealousy hcs, not proof read lol

⋆𓄃Thranduil

-Thranduil can be quite jealous and, more so, protective over his beloved and he does not care to ever admit it. He is quite avoidant of his subjects and feels a bit shocked (or looks like it, he did expect you to point it out eventually tbh) when you point it out to him

-Would make sliding comments about your attention lingering too long on someone, or even something at times. 

-A play of words is sure to ensue if you keep pressing him for his reasons, and throughout he never raises his voice or anything of that sort, he is rather calm and eventually you come to understand that he is enjoying this, both the banter and the attention. This can be sometimes flustering or frustrating when he begins to smirk and offer sass and teasing words. 

-The Elven king has seldom ever expected to ‘fall into’ love like this, or to behave like this while loving someone, but even through his long years of living he is still learning some things. 

-Thranduil is quite wary of others, especially outsiders even if they are his distant kin. So he may keep you away from meetings or tedious dinners with any delegates or visitors that may seem like ‘too much’ for you to be exposed to them.

-He is stubborn, so chances are it would take a long time for him to let up on his views, as he deems it all necessary for your protection and happiness

-But even he cannot deny that he does carry a great weight on his heart and consciousness, and long, late night conversions are not something rare with him. He enjoys them more than anything else because he feels more justified to be vulnerable when the rest of the world falls asleep. He is more open to physical touch as well, and he tells you his worries and his feelings clearly then. 

🍃Legolas

-The prince of Mirkwood is still quite green in the area of emotions and how one deals with them, despite his years. But he is notably much softer in comparison to his father. 

-He would find it odd that he feels this way and would hide it away from you for the longest time until he can bear it no longer. It is like poison to him

-Although you would be able to see it all happening and coming down on him with the way he stares out at nothing, sometimes at the people besides you, the way his lips pull into a deep carved frown and how his jaw sets, almost uncomfortably, even for an elf - especially for an elf. His shoulders are so tense you can put a table on him

-Once he expresses his feelings to you he does apologize as well, he doesn’t want you thinking that he doesn’t trust you or that he believes you’d go behind his back and take the offer of another heart - he truly can’t explain the feelings and where they stem from.

-It’s multiple things all at once - he wants you safe and happy, and the people around may not have the purest intentions, but at the same time he feels odd that you sometimes seem to be having much more fun with someone else than him. So there’s quite a lot to unpack with him, but he is not impatient or unwilling to learn.

♬Lindir

-Lindir is more prone to fits of jealousy that strike seemingly out of nowhere, he is quite dense with it too although not nearly as secretive as he would like himself to be. He may be quiet, but the face he stays quiet with is a completely different story..

-His jealousy does stem from a sense of insecurity in his own ability to be a good partner for you, it eats away at him at times and he can take up to saying witty responses to the individual/s that he perceives as sources of his feelings. He is never malicious of course, neither to you or them, as he understand these feelings can quickly turn to poison

-He may require some more support from you at times like these, and in private he feels utterly defeated in face of his own jealousy. He is not the one to openly ask for attention from you, but at times like these he may ask you questions that may reassure him again. Hold his face in your hands and just kiss the elf, that would be my advice, plainly delivered 

-He would grow flustered at such actions, and he may even give you some sass for it, but he is never refusing your advances at pouring some more of your love on him 

°˖➴Haldir

-The Marchwarden of Lorien is not the most open when it comes to his own emotions and it can be difficult to read his exact trail of thoughts at times. But jealousy is not foreign to Haldir, he knows how it feels and he has long since come to truly dislike(hate) it.

-It is unbecoming of his station and just of his own character in general. Nonetheless, this jealousy he feels holds its roots in worry for your safety rather than any kind of distrust of you, and it's greatly amplified by the distance between the two of you when he is away on duty. 

-Haldir doesn’t act out on his jealousy, although he makes his opinion known if he agrees or disagrees with you on your choice of companions. If he is at home with you, he would also tag along with you, if you so desired or if he just really, really did not like the company you’re going to be with. He knows nearly everyone in Lorien, and so he knows who to be wary of. That is not to say anyone from there would be a liability when it comes to physical harm, he knows that much is less likely to happen, but when it comes to needs that are more from within, love, need for attention - then he is not so sure. He cannot read the minds of others, and everyone changes over time, even elves. 

-His jealousy does lessen up when he is with you, as he is not as worried when he has you in his eye. If there is danger, Haldir would do whatever was in his power to eradicate the source of it. 

-You may notice this particular mood on him by the stiffness of his jaw and the hard look he sometimes directs at no one in general, as if holding an internal monologue with himself over what he’s experiencing and feeling

☼Glorfindel

-The Slayer of Balrogs is not susceptible to jealousy, and he was never a jealous individual to begin with. And that’s also without mentioning that he trusts his partner as well, otherwise he would not be with someone he did not trust.

-After his re-embodiment he may come off as a little clingy - he stays with you for as long as he can, not letting any moment go to waste, even if you are an immortal being as he is. He leaves kisses on your hands and your forehead when no one is around to see, it is intimate and he simply wants you to know that you will always have his love and support

-He is also very clear in his communication with you, and trusts that you’ll tell him if anything is bothering you, although sometimes he does know to postpone telling you something if he believes it could put a strain on you. 

-He is quite free spirited though and open minded at that, just a chill guy, the chillest on this list I dare say

-All in all.. 10/10, would recommend 

Ⓒ n0tamused. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

[earthlybeam]

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

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Thranduil, Elrond, Glorfindel, Celeborn Version below.

🍷𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓾𝓲𝓵

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

📜 𝓔𝓵𝓻𝓸𝓷𝓭

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

☀️𝓖𝓵𝓸𝓻𝓯𝓲𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓵

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

🩵𝓒𝓮𝓵𝓮𝓫𝓸𝓻𝓷

Among the Roots of a Mallorn Tree

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[welikeimagines-andfandoms]

How the elves prefer to kiss a short parter

(Elves are said to never really be under 6’4 and I’m thinking partners under 5’4)

Standing on a table

They find it hilarious and makes it easy to kiss you or pick you up if they want to continue the kiss elsewhere. They think it’s even funnier if you still have to go on your tippy toes.

Glorfindel and Lindir

Picking you up

Loves feeling you this close and making you feel safe. They won’t lie, they love that it means they can grab at your thighs and ass.

Haldir and Thranduil

Crouching down/On their knees

They like meeting you down to your level. If they’re on their knees it makes you both laugh but they love it because it makes them feel like they’re worshipping their sweet little love.

Legolas and Meludir

[batsyforyou]

A Wild Puddle Encounter!

Tags: Puddles, water

Author's Note: So, I went to bed last night and was smacked with this idea. It kept me really entertained so I hope someone gets a giggle out of it, cause I did.

Taglist: @asianbutnotjapanese

Would lift you over the puddle, help you over 

Glorfindel, Maglor, Celebrimbor, Beleg, Ecthelion, Thranduil, Gildor, Elrond, Finarfin, Fingolfin, Feanor, Finrod, Caranthir, Celebrimbor, Meludir

Would walk through the puddle and tease you about avoiding it 

Celegorm, Beleg, Mablung, Curufin, Feanor, Maeglin, Thranduil, Glorfindel, Fingon, Legolas, Celebrimbor

Would purposely splash the puddle 

Elladan, (me), Celegorm, Curufin (the not fun version), Meludir, Amras, Amrod, Fingon, Legolas

Would take off their cloak and put it over the puddle for you too cross

Finarfin, Fingolfin, Glorfindel, Gil Galad. Eonwe, Irmo, Finrod, Celebrimbor

Would avoid it, walk around

Erestor, Maedhros, Lindir, Curufin, Feanor, Elrohir, Caranthir, Turgon, Caranthir, Maglor

Would notice you avoiding it and make you “Embrace the suck” by making you walk through it

Sauron, Feren, Gildor, Namo, Haldir, 

Could not care it exists and walks straight through 

Eonwe, Celegorm, Mablung, Maedhros, Namo, Ulmo, Beleg, Legolas, Haldir, Eol, Sauron, Ulmo, Celebrimbor,

Would walk through the puddle while complaining or with a grimace on their face

Lindir, Turgon, Caranthir, Elrohir 

Happily splashes the puddle and later complains about their boots being wet

Elladan, Amras, Amrod, (me)

Would challenge it to a fight Pokémon style 

Glorfindel, Celegorm, Beleg, Fingon, Elladan, (me)

masterlist