But, you are important. I know sometimes you feel like you arenât. (If you do great, this is not directed at you) If you need a reminder, send me a message. Today is the eve of the loss of one of my very important people. It was something that could have been avoided,if they were more constantly reminded that they too were important. I forget too sometimes, but maybe we can remind each other. But should you need me, I shall be here
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How They Flirt With You {Thranduil, Legolas, Haldir}
These characters are part of a request - honestly, I should had written them earlier but better now than never!
⢠ËËËThranduil
Flirting, to Thranduil, is not some casual amusement. It is warfare in silk and gold. He doesnât pursue. He doesnât woo. He reigns, and waits for you to falter first.
His presence is overwhelming. All poise and control, the kind that dares you to come closer even as it warns you not to.
He doesnât lower himself to ask if youâre drawn to him. He knows you are. You wouldnât dare approach otherwise.
âYouâve been watching me. Tell me â was it awe or envy that froze you in place?â
He speaks like frost biting the edge of a blade â cold, gleaming, beautiful. Every word is chosen. Every pause calculated. And you can feel it: he is testing you.
Thranduilâs compliments are puzzles â double-edged, laced with both flattery and warning.
He praises your mind, but questions your intent.
He notes your beauty, but wonders how long it will last.
He enjoys your presence, but reminds you how easily he could dismiss it.
âYou are⌠intriguing. Like a flame in a glass vesselâdelicate, flickering, easy to extinguish.â
His words stay with you long after heâs gone. Youâll lie awake, wondering â was that affection⌠or a warning?
He doesnât need to touch you to seduce you. He simply exists near you and that is enough to set your skin aflame.
He walks past so close your sleeve brushes his but he does not glance your way.
He leans near to speak and you catch the cool scent of something ancient, something wild but he pulls back before your breath steadies.
His fingers pause near yours â not quite touching â and then withdraw with maddening restraint.
âYou flinch so easily. And yet⌠I havenât even begun.â
You ache for his touch. He lets you ache.
Thranduil flirts by giving you nothing. And in that nothing, you crave everything.
He answers questions with questions.
He leaves you suspended between offense and flattery.
He silences you with a single, steady gaze and the unbearable knowledge that he knows what you were about to say.
âYou think I am toying with you. How strange. I was merely watching how long it would take before you broke the silence.â
Even when he says nothing, heâs winning. You speak to fill the space and he watches, amused, listening for the cracks.
If you earn something real â his interest, his time, his trust â his demeanor shifts so slightly that only the most observant would notice.
His wit still bites, but thereâs a shadow of softness in it now.
He does not smile but his voice lowers, as if the words are only for you.
He lingers longer than he must. His silences stretch not with condescension, but contemplation.
âI do not often stay where I am not needed. Yet here I am. Still. Curious, isnât it?â
And in that stillness, he gives you the closest thing to a confession Thranduil will ever offer.
⢠ËËËLegolasÂ
Legolas flirts by paying attention â closer than anyone else ever has.
He remembers the way you braid your hair.
He notices when your smile doesnât reach your eyes.
He offers you water before you ask. A cloak before you shiver. Silence when you need it.
âYou favor your left when you walk. Did you injure your ankle?â
(Said not as concern but as proof he sees what no one else does.)
He doesnât seek to impress. He seeks to understand. And that, somehow, is far more disarming.
Legolas speaks with honesty, not innuendo. His compliments are never exaggerated â theyâre precise, soft-spoken, and entirely unexpected.
âYou are brave,â heâll say and mean it, not as flattery, but as fact.
âI have never met one like you,â heâll admit, with no hint of irony.
âYou move like someone who has had to fight for stillness. I find that⌠admirable.â
There is no teasing edge, no mischief. His flirtation doesnât seduce. It honors.
Legolas does not touch often but when he does, it is reverent.
He steadies you on uneven ground with a hand at your elbow, feather-light and fleeting.
He brushes a strand of hair from your face in battleâs aftermath, his fingers cool, his gaze unreadable.
And if he ever lets you lean against him â it is deliberate, not casual. A choice. A permission.
âYou are safe here.â
(He doesnât mean the campsite. He means his arms.)
He never pushes. He waits for you to reach for him and you will.
Some call it aloofness. But Legolasâs silences are intentional. When he is quiet around you, it is not from distance, it is from comfort.
He sits beside you without speaking, eyes on the stars, letting your presence speak for itself.
He shares memories in fragments â carefully, sparsely â like a rare bloom he lets you see but not touch.
âThere are trees in Ithilien that glow silver in the moonlight. I would like to show you, if⌠if you ever wish to see them.â
His silences arenât empty. They invite you in.
If he truly begins to feel something deeper, Legolasâs restraint begins to falter in the smallest of ways.
His gaze lingers too long.
He starts saying your name more, even when he doesnât need to.
He stays close in battle, not for strategy but protection.
âIf I seem overcautious, forgive me. I⌠would rather not lose you.â
Itâs not possessive. Itâs genuine fear of loss, wrapped in grace.
And when he finally admits his feelings, it will not be in grand gestures but in a moment of stillness so charged with emotion it leaves no room for doubt.
âI am yours⌠if you wish me to be.â
⢠ËËËHaldir
Haldir is reserved to the point of severity, but therein lies the pull, because when he grants you attention, it feels earned.
He watches, silently, and when he speaks â it is brief, measured, and intentional.
He does not smile easily. Which is why when he does, even slightly â it feels like a secret.
His flirting is rarely initiated in public. He is a warden first. But alone? Then you might notice the change.
âYouâre observant. I value that⌠though I would advise against staring too long. It gives others ideas.â
He does not court. He allows you closer. And that, to him, is courtship.
Haldir doesnât flatter idly. His compliments are scarce and often couched in dry, almost challenging delivery.
He might say, âYouâre not as incapable as I feared.â
Or, âYou adapt quickly. That is⌠useful.â
âYou surprise me. I donât often admit that. Donât make me regret it.â
Thereâs a touch of arrogance, yes but itâs earned. And when he lets you see the rare glimmer of amusement behind the cool facade, itâs intoxicating.
He does not touch casually. But if he allows himself near you, itâs deliberate.
He will correct your stance with a hand at your wrist, brief but firm.
Heâll lean in to murmur something meant only for you, his voice low, his breath brushing your ear.
He might walk just slightly closer than necessary during a patrol.
âI stay close because your footwork still falters on uneven ground. Donât mistake it for anything else.â
(It is something else. He just refuses to admit it.)
He will test you â not cruelly, but precisely.
He watches how easily you fluster, how much you push back.
If you return his barbs with wit, heâll raise a brow â just slightly â and say nothing. But later, youâll find he lingers longer in your presence.
He never gives all at once. Heâll give just enough to make you question whatâs underneath.
âYouâre not afraid of me. You should be. I havenât decided what I intend to do with you yet.â
And it sounds like a warning. But it feels like an invitation.
Should Haldir allow himself to care, the change is subtle but profound.
Heâll begin to offer things unasked: water, protection, information.
He will trust you with silences â not cold ones, but shared ones.
Heâll still mask his affection in discipline but now, it will be laced with quiet protectiveness.
âIf anything were to happen to you under my watch, I would consider it a failure. And I do not fail.â
And if you ever touch his hand first â he wonât pull away. He wonât speak. But youâll feel it in the stillness: heâs chosen you.
If anyone is interested, feel free to request headcanons/scenarios or drabbles - Iâm open to them!
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It was so therapeutic to draw these two after a long time, especially because this is a gift for my dear friend, the lovely @amandapearls! I love you so much darling and you are an absolute ray of sunshine in this fandom!
i had a dream that time travel was invented and too many people choose to travel back in time to save the titanic from sinking (the question of whether unsinking of the titanic deserved so much attention in the face of human history was the subject of both heavy academic and online discourse), which caused a rift in the space-time-continuum that led to the titanic showing up indiscriminately all over the worldâs oceans and sea in various states of sinking.
this caused a lot of issues both in terms of fixing said space-time-continuum and in terms of nautical navigation, and after a long and heavy battle in the international maritime organization it was decided that the bureaucratic burden of dealing with this was to be upon Ireland, much to their dismay. the Irish Government then released an app for all sailors and seafarers so they could report titanic sightings during their journeys, even though they heavily dissuaded you from reporting them given the paperwork it caused.
anyway i woke up with a clear image of the app in my head and needed to recreate it for all of you:
Haldir x human!Reader
âA lone pine, a quiet elfâcomfort found in unexpected closeness.
The scent of pine in LothlĂłrien is unlike anywhere elseâcleaner, sharper, touched by something ancient and golden. You inhale deeply as you stand beneath the towering trees, your gloved hand brushing the rough bark of one particularly massive pine whose branches sweep outward like a sheltering canopy.
âYou favor that one.â
His voice is soft, but it carries easily through the stillness.
You turn before you even think to. Haldir stands only a few paces away, composed as ever, his silver armor catching faint glimmers of filtered starlight. His bow is slung over his shoulder, his posture relaxed yet unmistakably watchful.
âYou walk too quietly,â you say, hand over your heart. âOne day youâll startle me into an early grave.â
A faint curve touches the corner of his mouthâso slight it could be imagined.
âI doubt that,â he replies. âYour spirit is more resilient than you believe.â
Your cheeks warm at the unexpected praise. You clear your throat and nod toward the pine.
âThis one reminds me of home.â
Haldir steps closerâone soundless stride, then anotherâuntil he stands beside you beneath the wide boughs. The air shifts subtly with his presence, cool and steady as a winter current.
âYou miss the place of your youth,â he observes.
You nod. âThe forests were nothing like LothlĂłrien, but the pines⌠they always smelled like this. Crisp. Comforting.â
Haldir considers your words in that quiet, measured way of his.
âElves do not often associate pine with comfort,â he admits. âIts presence signals the edge of winter, of long marches, of battles fought in the cold.â
He pauses, tilting his head faintly toward you.
âBut for you, it holds gentler memories.â
Your breath escapes softly.
âYes,â you say. âIt does.â
The breeze whispers through the needles overhead, sending a cascade of soft, fragrant scent around you. Haldir inhales, and for once he does not hide the way he slows to savor it.
âI see why you favor this tree,â he murmurs. âIt stands alone from its kin. Strong, steadfastâeven in seasons that would weaken others.â
You blink, turning toward him. âAre you⌠comparing the tree to me?â
His gaze flicks to yoursâsharp, strikingâas if weighing whether to confirm it.
Finally, he speaks.
âI am.â
The word hangs between you like a held breath.
Before you can respond, he lifts a handânot touching you, but close enough that the gesture carries warmth.
âIf the scent brings you solace,â he says, voice a quiet vow, âthen I will see that your quarters are lined with pine boughs through winterâs end.â
You stare at him, stunned. âHaldir⌠you donât have to do that.â
His expression softens by a fractionâan elfâs version of a confession.
âI know.â
A pause.
âI wish to.â
The wind moves againâcool, fragrant, and gentleâand you find yourself leaning ever so slightly toward him, your shoulder brushing the edge of his cloak.
Haldir does not move away.
For a moment, beneath the sweeping limbs of the ancient pine, LothlĂłrien feels less like a golden realm of starlight and more like home.
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Just in case you need to hear this, bedtime is not for looking at news. It's not time to watch videos about what's going on; it's not time to catch up or "stay informed". Your job at bedtime is to relax and clear your head and sleep, so that you can be rested and tackle another day tomorrow. That's your only responsibility at bedtime. That's how you serve the world best. At bedtime, relaxing and going the fuck to sleep is praxis.
He fell asleep in his bed, at home, and woke up at the goddamn grocery store with an overhead light in his face if that happened to you youâd become The Joker
Poor guyâs only been here for like a dozen weeks he doesnât even have a favorite show to distract him yet heâs just raw-dogging reality unfiltered with no goddamn Blorbos to rotate whatsoever
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