Feli here (She/her). I post Lord of the Rings content on here (mostly Aragorn/Legolas).
Link to my AO3 here - I write fics of all ratings.
I like to think I'm quite approachable, so please do say hello!
Fun fact: there's no actual origin to my username, I was procrastinating over it too long and decided to make something up on the spot 🙂 and now I'm stuck with it 🙃
(It has grown on me thankfully)
NEXT POSTING DATES
18 March 2026 26 March 2026
Apothecary of Mirkwood - Chapter 4
(sorry to anyone who was looking forward to the new chapter! My work hours went crazy and I wasn't able to edit)
Across the fire pit, Aragorn watches Legolas with a lowered brow, eyes heavy, and Gimli frowns for a moment before he recognises the emotion.
Longing.
Gimli cannot stop his brows from jumping to meet his hairline, for this is a most unexpected development.
I'm back with a new one-shot!
I won't bore you too much with the real world, but it's been a TRIP - and it all lead to me getting too anxious to do anything, including posting on AO3/Tumblr and responding to lovely commenters. I'm coming through the other side now, so prepare to be bored of me again :)
Away from Aralas, I also posted a Heated Rivalry one-shot tonight. If that catches anyone's interest, you can read here :)
Strider pulls away. “I can check for your father, though have only ever seen him in portraits. What does he look like?”
Legolas thinks back, tries to remember the colour of his father’s eyes, or the set of his brow, but the memory sits in a dark haze, and so he keeps his answer vague. “He always seemed tall to me, though that may have been because I was a child. His hair was golden, somewhere between the yolk and the white of a fresh egg.”
Strider waits for more, and then sighs when none comes. He pats Legolas upon the shoulder, and then looks around the corner. He is back almost immediately, face unreadable. “Ai, your father is here,” Strider says, certain, “there can be no other Mirkwood elf that would be so bold as to argue with Glorfindel.”
I can't believe this is so close to being done - it's been a year-long labour of love, and I will miss writing Child of War. I am however looking forward to anyone who doesn't read WIPs finally getting to read it :D
100k words is getting scarily close. Thank you to everyone who has joined me thus far!!!
More fics of Legolas and Aragorn swapping clothes pls
Any recommendations very much welcomed!
(a snippet of mine under the cut. Full story is very far off being posted as it's a long one and I need to finish other WIPs first)
Aragorn sat with hood raised in the Prancing Pony, lying in wait. Gandalf was still unaccounted for, but it was no matter, for Aragorn knew his purpose should the Grey Wizard not appear. There were no halflings in the inn just yet, but soon enough they would arrive, and Aragorn would be there to watch over them.
A man, similarly garbed in a thick cloak, dropped heavily to sit across from him, and Aragorn paid them no heed. It was busy enough in the inn that strangers might sit together, and not so friendly an inn that he might be expected to make conversation. It was only when a leg knocked against his own that he glanced up, and was greeted by a familiar lower face.
He knew that Glorfindel had been schooling Legolas in the art of disguise, but it was uncanny, to be in front of an elf that passed as a man. The heavy footstep, the slumped posture, the jug of ale, even the fingernails. “You are dirty,” Aragorn whispered lowly in Sindarin, trusting Legolas to hear.
“I am assimilating,” Legolas replied gruffly. The elf took a pipe from his pocket, and Aragorn schooled his face as the elf lit it with ease, puffing away as if he had smoked his whole life.
Aragorn looked away, adjusting his seat. “You are always finding new ways to arouse me," he whispered under his breath. Legolas looked at him sharply, but did not stop smoking.
To an outsider, their silence might appear uncomfortable, but Aragorn revelled in being so close to Legolas. Their legs rested against one another beneath the table, and he dared, just once, to run his foot up a steady ankle, relishing in the minuscule flash of emotion that passed across the face of Legolas. He was used to long watches, usually alone in the cold and rain. By comparison, sitting in a warm inn with Legolas was honey sweet.
The eyes of the disguised elf lingered on the door, and Aragorn did not need to turn to know the hobbit folk had arrived. They both remained as they were, puffing away at pipes and drinking their ale, as the hobbits settled in, their innocent countenance out of place in this rotten den.
And then, one of the halflings disappeared. The air was wrenched from mannish lungs at the sense of present evil, and he could see Legolas similarly affected across from him. Aragorn was halfway across the room before the halfling even reappeared, dragging him up the stairs and away from prying eyes.
He was unsurprised that the other three halflings would seek to protect their friend, but he was surprised that he himself had no support. He looked through the door, seeing Legolas lingering in the hall. “You are no help,” he called out, and Legolas stepped forward, into the light.
“You seemed to have the situation in hand," Legolas replied, removing the hood of his cloak to reveal dyed-dark hair and pointed ears. Any doubts of the halflings had in Aragorn seemed to depart at the appearance of an elf, even one as disguised as Legolas, and they allowed themselves to be removed from the Prancing Pony. They set up camp instead in a different little hovel, Aragorn taking the chair by the window whilst Legolas parked himself in the hall, both determined to keep watch so that their charges might survive the night.
They passed the night so, hidden from the Nazgul, until at first light, Aragorn woke the resting halflings, readying them for a long day of travel. When he opened the door, Legolas was stood ready, hood pulled low over his eyes.
They crossed the Midgewater Marshes as fast as the Hobbits could manage, Legolas leading the way and Aragorn protective at the back of the group. In the gentle daylight, Aragorn could see far more of the elf than he had the night before, and when they stopped for water, Aragorn walked to the elf, standing close. “You wear my coat,” he whispered in Sindarin, rough. Legolas looked down, examining his cuffs, and shrugged a single shoulder, noncommittal.
“Was that elvish?” Merry called, fascinated. “What did he say?”
“The sky is about to turn,” Legolas told Merry in Westron. “We should remove ourselves from the marshes. Come, Master Hobbits.” The hobbits grumbled, but moved, dragging their tired feet on.
“You have not slept.” Legolas chides.
“Neither have you.”
“It is different, for elves,” Legolas responds, and Aragorn huffs in response. Legolas comes to the narrow bed frame, sitting beside Aragorn’s hip. The bed is barely wide enough for it to be done, and Aragorn makes no attempt to move over, so the perch is slim and uncomfortable, but Legolas makes it work, pressing the curve of his bent hip against the flat hip of Aragorn.
It makes Aragorn twitch, the press of their bodies together, even when the point of contact is so small, and Legolas marvels at it - that he could receive so great a response for so little. “What brings you here, elf?” Aragorn asks, gruff.
“I have an offer,” Legolas responds, and then falls silent. Aragorn looks to him, one of his fine brows raised, his handsome grey eyes crinkling. “Like fresh rain on a blistering summer’s day, I am here to soothe you, my friend.” He says, and Aragorn frowns, as if searching for meaning in an ocean of mystery.
You are being too vague, Legolas chides himself, but cannot coax the words out. Action is the way he can show his hand, he decides, and so gently, slowly, he rotates himself on the bed so that he faces Aragorn, and slowly, with intention, lowers his hand to rest on the mannish stomach, mere inches from where Aragorn’s desire lies.
I managed to sneak in one final one-shot to round off the year on an unlucky 13 fics posted!
I had to cancel my NYE plans due to illness, so this has been edited in a lemsip-induced haze - please blame all mistakes on that :)
This is likely to stay a one-shot for now, but I will say that the idea of Legolas breaking away from Elven purity traditions (and the potential consequences of those decisions) is something I find very fascinating and may explore in either a sequel or another standalone work.
I know this is not a milestone people normally track, but my last Aralas fic of 2025 has had at least one kudos a day since I posted it on New Year's Eve. Today was day 50 of kudos, and I'm just really proud of that :)
