#Lord of the Golden Flower

[savage-kult-of-gorthaur]

WHEN GODS AND MONSTERS CLASHED TO THE DEATH IN THE FIRST AGE.

PIC INFO: Resolution at 1996x2808 -- Spotlight on a Tolkien Legendarium piece titled "Glorfindel and the Balrog," artwork by John Howe, c. 1989.

MINI-OVERVIEW: "It was very exciting to imagine Balrogs when they were rather more commonplace than the last survivor in the Mines of Moria. Glorfindel battles to his death with the Balrog pursuing his people fleeing from fallen Gondolin. As the painting was for a calendar, it is not necessary to accommodate for titles and other bits of text. The mountains are from Patagonia, the cliff from Ireland (of course), and the Balrog from those places your mind goes sometimes..."

-- JOHN HOWE (renowned Tolkien Legendarium illustrator/designer)

Source: www.john-howe.com/portfolio/gallery/details.php?image_id=284.

[ayaosguqin]

“Fearless and full of joy; his eyes were bright and keen, and his voice like music; on his brow sat wisdom, and in his hand was strength”

Glorfindel

[charri-fish]

Glorfindel in medieval hood. Gotta tuck that hair away so its safe from balrogs.

Silly little guy.

[earthlybeam]

Glorfindel , Haldir, Lindir versions below (you Female reader)

☀️𝓖𝓵𝓸𝓻𝓯𝓲𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓵

Glorfindel is not one to easily lose his composure. As a lord and a warrior who has faced the darkest creatures in Middle-earth, his discipline and self-control are nearly unmatched. But with you—it’s different. Your boldness, your touch, the way you press against him—all of it stirs something inside him that not even centuries of wisdom can entirely suppress.

The moment you slide up beside him, your arm brushing his, his attention shifts immediately. He had been reviewing a map spread across the polished wooden table in one of Rivendell’s quiet chambers, the soft golden glow of candlelight flickering against the walls. But now, you occupy his focus entirely.

Your fingers trail lightly over his forearm, and without hesitation, you wrap both hands around it—pressing your body close. The soft, supple warmth of your breasts against his arm does not go unnoticed. In fact, the heat of your touch burns through the fine, golden fabric of his tunic as if it weren’t even there.

At first, he stiffens slightly—a reflex from years of battle and discipline. But then, he glances down at you, his ocean-blue eyes catching the way your figure molds against his arm. His lips curve into a knowing smile—gentle but undeniably amused, as if he’s fully aware of the game you’re playing.

“Is my company not enough to satisfy you,” he says, his voice smooth and rich, like warm honey. His tone carries that familiar teasing edge, but beneath it lies something deeper—something warmer. “Or perhaps you seek something else?”

When you press closer, subtly adjusting yourself to let your cleavage rest against him more boldly, his sharp elven senses do not miss a thing. His eyes flicker—just for a moment—to the curve of your chest, though he is quick to return his gaze to your face, his self-control slipping just enough for you to catch the spark of temptation lurking beneath the surface.

Without pulling away, he lifts a hand to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear—his touch slow, deliberate. The brush of his fingers against your skin sends a shiver down your spine, and he seems to notice that too. “Careful, meleth-nîn,” he murmurs, the Elvish term of endearment—my love—slipping from his lips like a caress. “If you keep this up, I may begin to think you enjoy distracting me more than you let on.”

When you lean in further, this time letting your chest brush against his back as you circle around him, his breath catches just slightly—a reaction so subtle you might miss it if you weren’t paying attention. But you are paying attention, and the flush of color rising to the tips of his pointed ears betrays the calm façade he tries to maintain.

“You’re playing with fire,” he says, though his voice is softer now—lower, rougher around the edges. The disciplined lord is still there, but beneath the surface, you’ve awakened something far more primal.

Then, in a bold move of his own, Glorfindel reaches down, catching your wrist in his large, strong hand. With surprising ease, he pulls you to face him fully—leaving barely an inch between you. His golden hair falls in soft waves over his shoulders, framing his striking, ageless face as he looks down at you.

“If this is your idea of a game,” he muses, his thumb brushing lightly over the inside of your wrist, feeling your pulse quicken beneath his touch, “you must know…I am not one to lose.” And with that, he leans in—so close that his breath brushes against your cheek—waiting, watching to see just how far you’ll take this teasing… or if you’re prepared for how far he might take it in return.

🏹𝓗𝓪𝓵𝓭𝓲𝓻

Haldir is not easily flustered. As the Marchwarden of Lothlórien, his composure is legendary—he is disciplined, stoic, and carries himself with an air of calm authority. Yet, even someone as reserved and controlled as he is not immune to you.

The first time you brush against him, it’s subtle. Your hand glides along his forearm before you wrap your fingers around it, pulling yourself close. The soft swell of your breasts presses against his arm, and though his expression remains neutral, the briefest flicker of tension crosses his jaw. His body stiffens slightly, as though he’s not sure whether to pull away or remain still.

He doesn’t speak immediately—of course, he wouldn’t. Instead, his sharp, ocean-blue eyes shift to you, assessing with that ever-watchful gaze. His face is calm, but you know him well enough to notice the small tells. The way his lips press into a thin line. The faint twitch of his fingers as if resisting the urge to move. “You are bold today,” he finally says, his voice smooth and low, though there’s a slight edge to it—a warning, or perhaps something else entirely.

But you don’t stop. If anything, his restrained reaction encourages you. The next time, you take things a little further. Standing beside him, you lean forward as if to whisper something, allowing your chest to graze against his arm again—this time more deliberately. The warmth of your body is unmistakable, and Haldir freezes for just a heartbeat. His fingers curl into a loose fist at his side—a rare sign of his internal struggle.

His composure slips just enough for you to notice.“Is there something you require of me?” His tone is calm, but you catch the way it deepens slightly, a hint of strain beneath his polished exterior. His eyes linger on you now—not just observing, but noticing. The graceful line of your neck. The way your shirt dips just low enough to tease him with a view.

When you press your breasts to his chest—boldly, without hesitation—it’s the first time his façade truly cracks. His hands, which are usually held so neatly behind his back or at his sides, move without thought. One large, calloused palm rests against your waist, fingers spreading just enough to feel the curve of you beneath them. He doesn’t pull you closer—but he doesn’t push you away either.

“You test my patience,” he murmurs, though there’s no real bite to the words. Instead, there’s something else—an unspoken challenge. A hint of curiosity beneath his usual seriousness. And then, as if to prove to himself that he still holds the upper hand, Haldir tilts his head down, allowing his lips to brush your ear as he speaks again—so quietly, so intimately, that the warmth of his breath sends a shiver racing down your spine.

“Be careful, meleth nín. There are consequences to tempting a Marchwarden.” But despite his warning, Haldir doesn’t move away. If anything, his grip on your waist lingers a little longer than necessary, his thumb brushing the soft curve of your side—a fleeting touch, but enough to make it clear: He is affected, no matter how much he tries to hide it.

🎻𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓭𝓲𝓻

Lindir is not prepared. It had already been a trying day for him—balancing trade negotiations, organizing Elrond’s schedule, and mediating a minor disagreement between two particularly stubborn elves. By the time he finally sees you approaching across the polished floors of the Last Homely House, a soft breath of relief escapes him. Your presence always manages to soothe his frayed nerves, though today… today, you seem to have other plans.

You’re wearing a shirt that is—well, revealing. Too revealing, if you ask Lindir’s already panicked thoughts. The neckline dips in a way that draws his gaze without his permission, and when he notices, his face flushes a delicate shade of pink. He tries—Valar, he tries—to keep his eyes on your face, to maintain propriety, but the softness of your skin is impossible to ignore.

When you greet him, your smile is warm—too warm. He senses mischief beneath the sweetness, but before he can puzzle it out, you move closer. Your hand finds his arm, delicate fingers curling around it as you lean in, pressing the curve of your breasts against the soft fabric of his robes. His breath hitches—just barely—but you catch the faint tremor.

“Lindir,” you murmur, your voice smooth and honeyed, “you’ve been working so hard today. I hope I’m not interrupting.” He blinks rapidly, as if doing so will somehow reset his composure. “N-No, of course not,” he stammers, voice soft yet strained, betraying just how much your touch is unraveling him. “I—um—your presence is always welcome.”

You hum softly, giving his arm the gentlest squeeze, tilting your head to look up at him through your lashes. “Good,” you purr, shifting just enough to brush yourself even closer against him, and that’s when you feel it—a subtle, involuntary twitch in his muscles as his entire frame goes rigid beneath your teasing.

Lindir is trying—oh, how he is trying—to remain the picture of Elven composure, but you are making it impossible. His pale skin burns with color high on his cheekbones, and his lips part slightly as if to speak—but no words come. His long fingers twitch nervously at his side, desperate for something to do, some distraction from the warmth of your body against his. “You’re warm,” you observe playfully, your voice low as you lean your head against his shoulder. “Are you feeling well, Lindir?”

“I—I am perfectly fine,” he insists, though the quiver in his voice betrays the opposite. He dares to glance down at you—immediately a mistake, because the sight of your cleavage so close, so intentionally pressed against him, has his breath faltering again. “It is simply… warm in here.”

“Is it?” you tease, your tone light, but your intentions anything but. You shift slightly—innocently, as though you have no idea what you’re doing—letting your breasts press more firmly against his arm.

Lindir makes a sound—soft, strangled, utterly helpless. His hand clenches into a fist at his side as if to anchor himself, but his gaze darts away, desperate to find something—anything—else to focus on. “Y-You should—um, perhaps you should—” He swallows hard. “I mean to say—your attire is rather… light.”

You smile, pretending to misunderstand. “Oh, do you not like it?” You tilt your head, letting your hair brush against his neck as you lean closer, the scent of you surrounding him. “I thought it was rather… comfortable.” His ears—already delicately pointed—are now a lovely shade of red, and he clears his throat, struggling to form a coherent thought. “It—it suits you,” he admits, almost breathless, though he quickly adds, “though it may be… distracting.”

“Distracting?” you echo, as if you are genuinely surprised. “I wouldn’t want to distract you, Lindir.” Liar. You know exactly what you’re doing. His composure is unraveling by the second—his usual poised, polished exterior now reduced to nervous fidgeting and stammered words. His heart pounds in his chest, far too loud for his liking, and his mind is caught in a tug-of-war between propriety and desire.

Then, just to push him further, you slide your hand down his arm to entwine your fingers with his—delicate and deliberate—as you lean into his side. “You work so hard,” you murmur softly, your voice a warm caress against his ear. “I only want to make sure you’re taking care of yourself.” Lindir inhales sharply—so sharply you almost feel bad for teasing him. Almost.

“I—I do,” he insists, though his voice trembles slightly, and he cannot bring himself to meet your gaze. “I… I should—um—attend to my duties.” But even as he says the words, his body makes no effort to pull away from yours. If anything, he is too still—frozen in the delicate agony of your touch, torn between duty and the undeniable pull toward you.

If you were to tease him any further, you might actually break him. But as much as you enjoy his flustered reactions, you also love the delicate tremor in his voice—the soft, breathless way he says your name when he’s completely undone. For now, though, you settle for one last playful press of your body against his chest as you release his hand. “Don’t work too hard, Lindir,” you whisper before stepping back, leaving him standing there—wide-eyed, breathless, and utterly at your mercy.

[obsob]

beloved!!!

[doodle-pops]

When Kissing Them Goes Wrong | House of Elrond + Glorfindel

「 ✦ Elrond ✦ 」

It had been a quiet moment in his study when you decided to steal a kiss. Sitting by the large window, Elrond welcomed you into his lap with a soft smile. As your lips met, the warmth of the moment enveloped you both—until the door creaked open. Without warning, Glorfindel strolled in, immediately freezing in place.

“Elrond, I—oh. I see,” Glorfindel said, his eyes wide with realisation.

You scrambled to move, but in your haste, your foot slipped off Elrond’s knee and you ended up headbutting him right in the nose. Without a second to lose, Elrond winced, one hand flying to his face while Glorfindel stood awkwardly, halfway out the door but unable to look away.

“I’ll…come back later,” Glorfindel muttered before disappearing as swiftly as he arrived.

Elrond’s face was a mix of pain and amusement. “That could’ve gone better,” he said, chuckling softly through a slightly pained grimace.

“Sorry,” you groaned while hiding your face.

「 ✦ Erestor ✦ 」

You leaned in for a kiss while Erestor was in the middle of cataloguing some ancient texts. He had been so focused that when you pressed your lips to his, he was caught off guard and jerked back—right into a stack of precariously balanced scrolls.

With a loud thud, half the table’s contents tumbled down, followed by a crash as Erestor lost his footing and nearly brought you both to the floor. The two of you stared in silence, tangled awkwardly in each other’s arms, surrounded by the scattered chaos of centuries-old manuscripts.

“Romantic,” he muttered dryly, eyeing the mess with mild exasperation. You bit back a laugh, but when you met his gaze, the ridiculousness of the situation hit you both, and you broke into uncontrollable giggles.

「 ✦ Elrohir ✦ 」

Elrohir had just leaned in, his eyes soft and intent as he closed the distance between you two. You mirrored his movement, but at the last second, you both miscalculated—your teeth clacked together painfully. You pulled back instantly, hands flying to your mouth, while Elrohir winced, rubbing his jaw.

“Ow,” you both said in unison, looking at each other with wide-eyed surprise.

Elrohir let out a breathless laugh, pressing his forehead against yours. “We might need to work on our coordination,” he said, smiling despite the pain. You couldn’t help but laugh too, the sting of the moment fading in the face of his lightheartedness.

「 ✦ Elladan ✦ 」

Elladan had pulled you into a spontaneous kiss by the riverbank, and just as it was getting sweet, he stumbled over an unseen rock. The next thing you know, he was falling backwards, taking you with him. You landed with a splash in the shallow water, the cold sending a shock through both of you, more you as it prompted gasps and whines.

Elladan, now soaking wet, sat up and wiped the water out of his face, sputtering. “Well, that was smooth,” he groaned, glaring at the offending rock. You couldn’t help but burst into laughter as he offered you a dripping hand to help you up.

“Next time, maybe a little less enthusiasm?” you teased, grinning through the water streaming down your face.

「 ✦ Glorfindel ✦ 」

You had found a quiet corner in the garden, a perfect spot for a stolen kiss with Glorfindel. The soft petals of the flowers surrounded you, creating an intimate atmosphere. As you leaned in, he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer. Just as your lips touched, an ever-so-helpful breeze picked up, sending petals swirling around you like confetti.

Caught up in the moment a little too much, Glorfindel tried to maintain his balance, but the sudden gust led to the petals clinging to his skin, sending him into a spiral of ticklish sensation, prompting him to stumble. His foot caught on a root, and he lost his footing, tumbling backwards into a nearby rosebush with a yelp. You couldn’t help but gasp and then burst into laughter as he emerged, his hair a wild mess, covered in petals and thorns.

“Charming, isn’t it?” he said, trying to salvage his dignity while carefully disentangling himself from the prickly branches.

“You look like a flower bouquet gone wrong,” you teased, giggling as he shot you a playful glare, half-annoyed but clearly amused.

“Next time, we kiss away from the plants,” he grumbled, smirking despite his predicament. His laughter joined yours.

Masterlist

Taglist: @lilmelily @ranhanabi777 @rain-on-my-umbrella @mysticmoomin @asianbutnotjapanese @batsyforyou @aconstructofamind @stormchaser819 @involuntaryspasms @addaigio @lamemaster @elficially-done-with-life @eunoiaastralwings @mcwentfandomtraveling @hermaeuswhora @zheiya

If you wish to be tagged, click the Taglist Link to join.

[sassyladyalatariel]

Glorfindel's Aesthetic!

[radjerda]

So, I did some Rivendell-based incorrect quotes doodles a while back. Presenting:

Thranduil is in town for a visit and Glorfindel happens to be showing him around.

Erestor will find a way to make an overworked Elrond listen to his advice.

A semi-newly returned Glorfindel gets ready for his day.

[lovefairymina]

You: *reading smut on your phone*

Clorfindel: *leaning over your shoulder* Hi, darling. What are you reading?

You: *In panic you toss your phone into the fountain*

*you both stare at the fountain where your phone now rests at the bottom of the water*

Clorfindel: Why--- did you do that? Wasn't your phone important to you?

You: Well... It's because I was reading something... you are too innocent to know.

Clorfindel: What do you mean? I am fine with your reading taste. I'm even fine with you reading angst and horror.

You: It's... because I wasn't reading either of those. I was reading... smut.

Clorfindel: *tilts his head curiously* What is smut?

*you stare at him, horrified about what you were going to tell him*

You: Alright. Before I tell you--- I must make a confession first.

Clorfindel: Alright, what is it?

You: I'm a very perverted woman.

His golden brows knitting together as he studied you with the same quiet intensity he might give a puzzling battle strategy. Then, as if arriving at some grand conclusion, he let out a soft “Ah.” His gaze flicked to the fountain, then back to you.

“You sacrificed your device to the waters rather than risk me reading…smut?” A pause. Then, with an amused tilt of his head, he added, “And here I thought you were simply hiding some dark secret. But no, just an extremely perverted woman.” His lips twitched, dangerously close to a grin. “Now, tell me—was it at least well-written?”

[windrelyn]

Glorestor ❤

[elleth-en-ithil]

Glorfindel and his incredible blowout

[glorfindel-of-imladris]

Glorfindel Week, Day 3: House of the Golden Flower | Gondolin

@glorfindelweek

"There stood the house of the Golden Flower who bore a rayed sun upon their shield, and their chief Glorfindel bore a mantle so broidered in threads of gold that it was diapered with celandine as a field in spring; and his arms were damascened with cunning gold." (The Fall of Gondolin)

[the-dreaming-plastic-dinosaur]

A lost plant-type in Namo's Halls

Sometimes, when a pokemon is too attached to its friend and dies with them, it will follow them to Mandos. Sadly, Namo only deals with ghost-types. In those cases he needs to call the corresponding colleague to take care of it.

Sometimes it goes smoothly.

And sometimes it doesn't...

Here, Sunflora is everything but cooperative

(idea thanks to a very nice reader on ao3)

[earthlybeam]

As I promised, the other elves version here! I hope you all enjoy it to the fullest. ☺️ Wishing everyone a wonderful day or a peaceful night, wherever you are. Take care and make the most of every moment! ❤️‍🔥🫶✨

Celebrimbor, Glorfindel, Haldir, Lindir versions below.

💍𝓒𝓮𝓵𝓮𝓫𝓻𝓲𝓶𝓫𝓸𝓻

The morning light spilled across the stonework of Celebrimbor’s private balcony, a soft golden glow that danced over the polished railings and the scattered tools left from last night’s work. Beyond the edge of Eregion, the Misty Mountains loomed in the distance, wreathed in a gentle haze. A cup of tea rested in his hands, steam curling lazily into the crisp morning air as he took slow, measured sips.

You stepped outside, the scent of metal and embers lingering faintly in the air—his forge was never far from him. Dressed in his usual elegant but practical tunic, Celebrimbor stood tall, silver-threaded dark hair catching in the light. He had been up for hours already, no doubt lost in thought over some new project, but as you approached, his expression softened.

“Good morning,” he greeted, setting his tea aside just in time for you to wrap your arms around him. He huffed out a quiet laugh, surprised but not unwelcoming. His embrace was firm yet careful, a silent acknowledgment of how much he enjoyed this. You hadn’t meant to linger too long, but as soon as your face brushed against his shoulder, his scent filled your lungs—warm like sun-heated parchment, the faintest trace of cedarwood and something metallic, likely from the forge. It was grounding, familiar, and so distinctly him.

He began to pull away slightly, but you hesitated. Instead of letting go, you pressed back in, burying your face against his neck with an exaggerated inhale—one sniff, then another, deeper this time. Celebrimbor stiffened slightly. “What—?” Another sniff. A little louder this time. You let out a small, contented sigh. “Ohhh, you smell so good.”

His entire body went rigid, and then—color. A deep flush creeping up the tips of his pointed ears, traveling down his neck. “I—Meleth!” His voice wavered, entirely caught off guard, his hands briefly hovering in place as if unsure whether to hold you closer or to pry you off.

You sniffed again, more dramatically, making a show of practically melting into him. “Why do you smell this good? It’s unfair.” Celebrimbor exhaled sharply, his fingers twitching against your back. “Is—” He cleared his throat. “Is this a normal greeting for you, or should I be worried?” You peeked up at him, cheek still pressed against his shoulder, utterly delighted at his rare display of flustered confusion. “I dunno, maybe you just smell extra nice today.”

Poor Celebrimbor looked torn between amusement and sheer mortification. He was accustomed to admiration for his craft, for his skill, but being openly appreciated like this? By you? He didn’t know how to handle it. “I—I do bathe regularly,” he muttered, trying to compose himself, but his voice cracked ever so slightly.

You grinned, taking one final, obnoxiously loud inhale for good measure. “Mmmm. Sure hope you do, it’s Perfection.” He groaned, pressing a hand over his face, but you caught the small, helpless smile tugging at his lips. “Valar help me,” he mumbled under his breath, but his arms remained wrapped around you all the same.

☀️𝓖𝓵𝓸𝓻𝓯𝓲𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓵

The sun was beginning to set, draping Imladris in a golden glow as you walked toward the training grounds. The scent of grass, warmed stone, and crisp evening air filled your senses, but none of it compared to what you were truly after—the distinct, familiar scent of him. Glorfindel stood near the racks of practice swords, wiping the sweat from his brow with a cloth. His golden hair, slightly tousled from sparring, shimmered under the fading light. His tunic clung slightly to his frame, proof of a hard-fought session, and the fresh scent of clean sweat mixed with something distinctly him—a deep, grounding blend of pine, leather, and a warmth that was uniquely Glorfindel.

The moment he saw you, his entire expression softened. His eyes—bright and full of warmth—lit up as he approached, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “Meleth nîn,” he greeted you, his voice carrying the slight breathlessness of exertion. Without hesitation, he pulled you into a firm embrace, his strong arms wrapping securely around you. The hug was warm, enveloping, safe. You buried yourself into his chest, feeling the lingering heat from his workout. But then—you caught it. That scent. You inhaled once, deeply. Oh.

It was intoxicating, grounding yet heady. Your fingers gripped the fabric of his tunic just slightly, savoring it, letting the scent of him wash over your senses. But just as Glorfindel began to ease back from the hug, you weren’t done. Before he could fully withdraw, you leaned in again, pressing your nose to the crook of his neck, drawing in another deep inhale—this time harder, like you were melting into it. Glorfindel froze. You felt his muscles tense slightly in surprise before he let out a soft, breathy chuckle. “Oh?” His voice dipped into amused curiosity. But you weren’t finished. Another sniff. Deeper. As if committing his scent to memory.

Glorfindel’s laughter rumbled in his chest this time, golden and warm. “Meleth, what are you doing?” His tone was playful, but you could hear the undercurrent of sheer delight. You mumbled against his shoulder, your words muffled, “You just—smell so good.” That was it. He laughed again, a rich, joyous sound, as his arms tightened around you in response. He dipped his head slightly, his breath brushing against your temple as he leaned into the hug once more instead of pulling away.

“Do I?” He mused, teasing. “I suppose I should train more often if it earns me this kind of welcome.” A hint of smugness laced his words, but beneath it was unmistakable affection. His large hand came up to cradle the back of your head, allowing you to breathe him in as long as you wanted. And when you finally pulled back, a little dazed, a little blissed out, he smirked and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Remind me to spar every day, then,” he murmured, utterly pleased with himself.

🏹𝓗𝓪𝓵𝓭𝓲𝓻

Haldir had just returned from his patrol, the last golden hues of the sun slipping beneath the boughs of Lothlórien, casting the trees in soft twilight. His steps were measured, composed as always, but there was a quiet ease in his posture—his duty for the day was complete, and now he could rest. As he approached, his keen eyes softened ever so slightly at the sight of you waiting for him.

You met him with a warm embrace, stepping into his arms without hesitation. His body was firm, strong from years of discipline, but the way his arms encircled you was deliberate, careful—protective. The faint scent of the forest clung to him, mixed with something inherently Haldir—a crisp, clean scent like rain on ancient wood, tinged with the faintest trace of the elven oils used to care for his armor and weapons. As he moved to pull away, you hesitated for just a moment, your head tilting slightly. Then, instinct took over. You leaned back in, pressing your face lightly to the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply. Oh.

The scent was intoxicating—earthy yet ethereal, familiar yet utterly irresistible. Your first breath was slow and savoring, but the second… oh, the second was deeper, hungrier, a slow, deliberate inhale that sent a delightful shiver through your spine. You let out a small, pleased hum, utterly melting into him.

Haldir, still holding you, stiffened ever so slightly. His hands, resting at your back, faltered for the briefest moment as his mind registered exactly what you were doing. He was not unused to your affection, but this… “…Meleth nín,” he murmured, his voice carrying both amusement and wary confusion. “Are you… scenting me?” You didn’t respond immediately—too lost in the moment, nuzzling just slightly closer to take in another breath. His warmth, his presence, the way his scent wrapped around you—it was overwhelming in the best possible way.

Haldir exhaled slowly through his nose, his grip on you tightening, though whether in mild embarrassment or something else entirely, you weren’t sure. “You are lingering,” he noted dryly, though his tone betrayed no real protest. His hands found your waist, and his thumb absently traced a slow circle against your back—a silent indulgence, despite his perplexed reaction.

You finally pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, your lips curved in a pleased smile. “You smell incredible.” For the first time in a long while, Haldir looked momentarily caught off guard. He blinked, tilting his head slightly as if to process your words. Then, in an almost imperceptible movement, his lips twitched. “Do I?” You nodded enthusiastically. “Like the forest after the rain… and something else. Something… you.”

Haldir let out a quiet chuckle, a rare, fleeting sound. “You are fortunate no others are here to witness this.” You raised a brow. “Oh? Would your fellow wardens find this amusing?” He exhaled through his nose, the faintest smirk ghosting across his lips. “They would find me amusing.” His fingers curled slightly against your waist. “And I cannot allow that.” You grinned, leaning in once more—not for another deep inhale this time, but to press a soft kiss against the curve of his jaw. “Then it shall be our secret.”

Haldir hummed, his arms subtly tightening around you, as if weighing the idea of letting you go just yet. Eventually, he exhaled, lowering his forehead briefly against yours before murmuring, “Very well. But be warned, meleth nín… I will remember this.” And with that, the mighty Marchwarden of Lórien—stoic, disciplined, ever-composed—allowed himself the smallest moment of indulgence, leaning just slightly into your embrace, letting the warmth of you settle into him like the hush of twilight over the Golden Wood.

🎻𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓭𝓲𝓻

Lindir had been carefully organizing a collection of books in Elrond’s library, his fingers gliding along the spines with practiced precision. The scent of parchment, aged ink, and the faint lingering of herbal tea from earlier clung to the air. It was peaceful, quiet—the way he preferred it—until he heard the soft shuffle of footsteps behind him. He barely had time to react before you wrapped your arms around him in a greeting hug, your warmth pressing against his back. Lindir tensed at first, startled, but quickly exhaled, relaxing into your embrace. He always did when it was you.

“Ah—m-meleth,” he murmured softly, the tips of his ears already tinged with pink. His voice was always composed, even when his heart wasn’t. “You startled me.” You hummed in amusement, your head resting against his shoulder. “Couldn’t help it,” you admitted. “You looked too huggable.” Lindir let out a quiet chuckle, his hands hovering uncertainly before gently resting atop yours. He wasn’t one for grand displays of affection in public—or even in private, really—but he cherished these moments, small as they were.

Then, just as he was about to step away, you moved. Your nose brushed against the side of his neck, your breath warm against his skin as you took in a deep inhale. Lindir froze. His entire body went rigid, fingers gripping the edges of the book he was holding as if it were his only lifeline. You didn’t stop there—no, you leaned in again, this time inhaling deeper, as if completely melting from the scent of him. By the Valar. Lindir’s breath hitched audibly, his entire face blooming into a shade of red so deep it rivaled the sunset over Imladris. “W-What are you doing?!” His voice cracked, utterly scandalized.

“You smell so good,” you sighed, completely unbothered, nuzzling closer before giving another, even harder sniff. Lindir’s brain promptly short-circuited. A strangled sound escaped him—something between a gasp and an embarrassed whimper—before he practically bolted out of your hold, spinning on his heel with wide, mortified eyes.

“I—You—Th-That is—” He sputtered, struggling to form coherent words. He took an urgent step back, only to bump into the bookshelf behind him. The books rattled in protest. His entire posture was stiff, hands clutched at his robes as if he could physically anchor himself to dignity. You, on the other hand, just grinned. “What?” you teased, tilting your head. “I like your scent.” Lindir made a sound that could only be described as an overwhelmed squeak. His hand flew to his face, covering his mouth as if that would somehow help suppress the furious blush overtaking him. His heart was pounding.

Elbereth, how was he supposed to function after that? “You cannot—cannot just—sniff me like that in public!” he stammered, voice a strangled whisper as if afraid someone might overhear. “I am working! This is a library! There are rules!” You just leaned in slightly, mischief dancing in your eyes. “So… I can do it when we’re not in public?”

Lindir visibly malfunctioned. His pointy ears twitched. His lips parted in stunned horror. His soul nearly left his body. “I—” He looked as if he was about to combust, his face buried behind both hands now, but the way his shoulders trembled told you he was suppressing the urge to flee. It was adorable. You couldn’t help but laugh, reaching forward to gently pry his hands from his face. “Alright, alright, I’ll behave,” you conceded, amusement still dancing in your expression. “But you do smell amazing, just so you know.”

Lindir swallowed thickly, looking absolutely wrecked by your words. He exhaled, still pink-faced, but his lips twitched into something shy, hesitant. “…You are utterly incorrigible,” he muttered, shaking his head as he turned back to his task—though his hands were still visibly shaking. And yet, as you watched him fluster about, you didn’t miss the way his ears remained red for the rest of the afternoon.

[doodle-pops]

Dating Glorfindel Would Include...

ʚɞ He’s like a golden retriever, filled with boundless energy and wants to be all over you. He cannot spend five seconds without some form of physical contact, be it holding hands, kissing you, or bumping shoulders.

ʚɞ One of the simplest things he likes to do is to hold your hand during walks, showing everyone that you’re his. He’s absolutely proud to know that you chose him to be your significant other so, he does his best to show you that you chose well.

ʚɞ Your time courting him will never be dull. Every moment spent with him will be full of energy and laughter.

ʚɞ Whenever there’s a party, festival or ball, you are the first couple on the dance floor. The first time you dance at a ball, you are surprised to learn that he is an excellent dancer since you have never seen him dance when asked by others.

ʚɞ He’s an amazing singer but he’ll only sing for you. You are the only person worthy in his eyes to hear his voice.

ʚɞ He enjoys going for rides with you on his horse. Sometimes the both of you will sit together or on separate horses and race each other across the open fields. There are times when he’s in a goofy mood and he’ll sit in front of you on Asfaloth, ignoring the fact that you can’t see.

ʚɞ Wherever you may be working he will always find time during the day to visit you. If it’s to bring you a meal of food or just stop by to say hello, he will always make the time. Even when he’s not on patrol or doing any duties, he’s sparring. He takes this opportunity to spar shirtless in hopes that when you pass by, you’ll ogle at his physique.

ʚɞ Should you do pass by, he shows off a lot more flexing his muscles and fighting with more power and strength to defeat his opponent showing you how strong he is. One time he flexed his muscles too hard, and he caught a cramp. To say the least, it was embarrassing for him.

ʚɞ Know that every day you will be receiving a bouquet of flowers at your doorstep. There are times he’d be able to deliver it and other times when he’ll send a worker.

ʚɞ He knows that he’s not the best cook but he’s willing to try making most of your favourite meals and desserts. Sometimes he’d invite you over into the kitchen so that you could show him how to make your favourite meals. You also do the same by sending meals and desserts for him when he’s working very hard. He always gets over-emotional whenever you do so.

ʚɞ Speaking of him being emotional, Glorfindel is genuinely a compassionate individual and it’s truly an honour to experience firsthand his ability to extend his empathy to others in need of it. Even you are fortunate to be on the receiving end when times are tough on your end.

ʚɞ He’s a cuddle bug so once you’re in his arms there’s no escaping, you’re never leaving you just have to stay there and accept your fate. He has no shame in basking you kisses but he won’t go overboard since he is a Lord and looked upon.

ʚɞ Whenever you’re cuddling you tend to run your hands through his hair which knocks him out. He’s very flamboyant so, expect a lot of grand moments with him but not to worry he does take your reactions seriously; he knows what’s acceptable and what isn’t.

ʚɞ Depending on the age you met, you get the opportunity to hear his tales of the olden days when his fellow Lords and friends were alive. Around these moments are when he relies on a slice of comfort from you to reassure him that there’s still good in his life despite all that he’s lost.

Masterlist

Taglist: @ranhanabi777 @lilmelily @mysticmoomin @rain-on-my-umbrella @asianbutnotjapanese @batsyforyou @mcwentfandomtraveling @involuntaryspasms @stormchaser819 @aconstructofamind @addaigio @lamemaster @hermaeuswhora @zheiya

If you would like to be tagged, click the taglist link to join.

[ffigwit]

Glorfindel and the Golden Flower

—

oh my, haven’t cracked open my paints in a million years but i was itching to paint for the first time in forever and thought why not paint my beloved <333