mothmimic

[mothmimic]

Hazy Memories

‣ pairing: Legolas x reader

‣ words: 950+

‣ content: fluff, human reader, gn!reader

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summary: after the Fellowship settles down for the night, you find that the cold leaves you unable to fall asleep. A walk in the woods ends in a moment more touching than you could have imagined.

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The terrain you— along with the rest of the Fellowship— trekked along was undeniably a difficult route to take. The temperature had plummeted significantly before the group had even reached the mountain of Caradhras, which led to the decision to make camp before nightfall would bring even deadlier weather.

Now you tossed and turned in your sleeping bag, your thoughts constantly lingering on the persistent, icy wind that was currently nipping at your skin. Most of your companions had somehow already found their way to hazy dreams: the hobbits were huddled together and sharing each other’s warmth; Aragorn, Gimli, and Boromir had each found their own place to rest; and Gandalf was off meditating somewhere, you were sure. The only one who was wide awake was Legolas, who was currently on watch due to his lack of need for sleep.

But through the fog the cold had brought upon your mind, you could still make out the memories of the past evening. Although the long stories of the mountain that Gandalf had told the group were already lost to you, the interactions you had with the blond elf were clear as a sunny day. The thought of him brought an unexplainable warmth throughout your chest before you urged it away. Your feelings for him were based purely on admiration, that was all.

You had always worried about him, which was why you had immediately offered him your cloak once the temperature had began to lower. You felt bad for him, seeing him in simple layers compared to the others. He had given you a curious look at first before a small, warm smile made its way to his face.

“I am alright, thank you.”

“But aren’t you cold?” You continued, the crease in your expression making it seem as if the mere thought of him being cold horrified you.

He shook his head softly, pressing your cloak back towards you. “Not necessarily, although I do appreciate your offer.”

And before you could protest he was already in front of the group again. You watched him gingerly step upon the snowy ground each time he moved, his grace leaving barely a trace. You sighed, the warmth of your breath drifting from your lips. Only when one of the hobbits pushed you forward did you snap out of your trance.

Tonight you were in that same trance again, your restlessness guiding you from your sleeping bag and towards the dense woodland. You weren’t sure where you were headed, if you were headed anywhere, but hopefully your movement would be enough to grant you a bit of warmth. You found your way to a relatively clear path between the trees before your eyes caught sight of a light trail of footsteps. You followed them, wishing for the elf to still be there, yet the trail stopped at a deep decline in the ground. You looked past the cliffside and to the star-speckled sky as if you were waiting for something. After a moment you eventually sighed and intended to turn back around, yet something stirred from the leaves overhead.

With one swift movement you grabbed the pocket knife on your waistband, ready to fight whatever was there— or rather, whoever. When your eyes opened again you were met with ones of sapphire-blue, paired with an amused grin framed by strands of smooth, delicate hair.

“Y/N.”

“I- Legolas!” You stammer, quickly withdrawing the weapon you had faced him with.

He looks you up and down with one swift glance, clearly not affected. “You’re awake. Why?”

“I just can’t sleep. Too cold, I guess.” You answer, not mentioning the fact that you were too busy thinking of how graceful he is. Or that you purposefully followed his footsteps here. He nods.

“Your cheeks are horribly red.” His response makes your eyes widen before you try to relax again, hoping the action was subtle enough that he didn’t notice. He continues as his gaze travels along your face, almost as if he’s analyzing each feature. As he does so, the back of his hands lift to lightly stroke your cheek. Heat blooms under his touch. “You’re not familiar with the cold, are you?”

“And I’m guessing you’re so warm with your… what, only two layers?” You scoff, taking a small step back and turning your head nervously. He looks as if he’s about to respond somehow, yet he cuts himself short. His line of sight travels down to his feet as if he’s nervous.

“Well, I suppose I haven’t been thinking about it. I am very cold, to tell the truth. Freezing, even.” As he confesses this, he glances at you from the corner of his eye as if he’s expecting something.

“I was right!” You exclaim with victory before settling down and providing your care. You join hands with him to share your warmth. “Here, take my cloak. I can do without a layer.”

“No, no, I can’t have you be even colder—“

“I insist! I’m sure you’ve been barely surviving with those mere layers.” You quickly take off your outermost layer, settling it onto his shoulders. You don’t notice the shade of soft pink on his cheeks. “There we go.”

You both stand there for a moment, Legolas looking like he’s still missing something. “I don’t think it’s enough.”

You raise your eyebrow. “Really? Well, if you want another—“

Before you can finish your sentence, the cloak envelopes your upper body, the elf using his arm to support you as he pulls you towards him. You instinctively stiffen before his voice washes over you, calm and easy like a stream. “I think this is perfect.” The tension leaves you at once, instead replaced with the warmth of his body, nurturing like rays of sun. For a moment you believe you’re back home.

Huddled within your cloak, the two of you settle down at the foot of a tree. Your hands wrap around to warm his back as his fingers run gently through your hair, lulling you to sleep. As you fade into unconsciousness, he speaks to you of the old forest at his own home: the towering trees, the soothing melodies of birds, the vibrant green of flora. Your dreams consist of a realm you have never set foot on.

When Aragorn finds the two of you next morning, he doesn’t dare tell you that elves do not get cold.

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[mothmimic]

Mystical Powers?

at work I drank a cold brew coffee, diet coke, and sweet tea all at the same time and I had to release the caffeine somehow I’m so sorry

‣ pairing: Astarion x reader but from Gale’s POV

‣ words: 1697

‣ content: all jokes, Gale is purposefully mischaracterized, Gale is a ‘nice guy’ and owns smut fanfiction (implied), unrequited rivalry, Gale is basically Matthew Patel

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‣ summary: Gale has done everything for you. Yes, he has ate your artifacts, but the reason you even offered them was because you were undoubtedly attracted to him. It was obvious from the way you talked to him last out of the entire group before going to sleep every night. He was just special like that. However, others— specifically a seductive white-haired elf— are not so keen to respect your guy’s destiny to be together. Gale sets out to prove luscious locks are never more important than a pure heart (without any ulterior motives at all).

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Gale rummaged through his collections of books, desperately searching for the one holy piece of information that could grant him a solution to this little problem of his. This problem was not one of scholarly importance, he was well aware, and it was not likely he would find his answer in his ancient texts. But these books were all he knew. What was he going to do, communicate like a normal human that had not been cooped up in his depression tower for years? Blasphemy.

He had taken much of his time alone as of late to contemplate on how he should proceed with the situation. He was not avoiding it, obviously not. He was merely worried for your safety. A fragile one like you was not meant to associate yourself with those like Astarion, an elf skilled in the craft of manipulation and deceitful seduction. Astarion had merely blinded you. Gale was your only hope for freedom. He definitely did not think this just because he wanted to feel needed. And definitely not because he was just sick of seeing the both of you make bedroom eyes across each nightly bonfire.

Lost in his thoughts, his attention suddenly snapped back as he noticed a book of interest. He picked it up gingerly as he read the title.

“Taken by the Vampire King… What a lovely piece of literature, if I do say so myself.” He muttered as he began to delicately pry the cover open. He suddenly stopped himself and slammed the book closed as he remembered the point of this search. “No, this will not assist me. Well…. if seduction is what draws Tav to the pale elf, then I suppose…”

“Now what in the hells are you doing making such a mess in here?”

The sudden voice nearly caused Gale to literally explode, his hands grasping at his chest to calm himself. He spasmed for a minute as his brain rebooted. “Uh, uh, I—“ And then, as if a switch was flipped on inside his brain, he irritably whipped around. “To all gods, Astarion, what are you doing giving me such a fright in the middle of the night? Do you know nothing of peace?”

“Pardon me, but I am an elf. I’m not in need of sleep like you poor little things.” He snorted, conceited as usual, prowling over towards Gale and taking a peek at the book before Gale can even throw it across his tent. “And I see you’re busying yourself with… important matters, hm?”

“It’s for educational— No, what do you want from me, Astarion?”

“Just a friend…” he pouted like a neglected child, collapsing onto Gale’s bedroll in defeat. Gale would feel a twinge of guilt if it was not his mortal enemy saying those words. And also if there wasn’t an obvious layer of sarcasm beneath.

“No, no, out with it.”

“Uh, fine. I was wondering if you had some type of strength potion. I feel like utter shit.” Astarion sighed as he threw his head back, blowing a strand of wandering hair out of his face. Gale studied him as he was distracted— it didn’t seem like he was lying. He looked like utter shit, his hands twitching and under eyes so dark as if he had never seen the sun in his 200+ years of life. (Gale would soon realize this observation was, in fact, accurate)

“Yeah, I see that. And I’m a wizard, not an alchemist, actually. A wizard merely studies their practice of magic through multiple sources of teachings while an alchemist…”

Gale continued on as Astarion sat there in silence. It was not a respectable type of silence, but rather one of ‘if this dude doesn’t shut up I think I might actually kill him.’ His hands began to clench into fists, his nails digging into his flesh as Gale’s nonsensical words pounded through his brain. The tadpole was not the only force controlling him tonight. His eyes flickered with hunger, yet Gale did not notice.

“Gale.”

“Alchemists deserve all the respect, of course, yet they are unaccustomed to my field of— Ah, yes?”

“How does your blood taste?”

The wizard stopped in his tracks. “I- I’m sorry?” He waited for a response for a moment. When he did not get one he continued. “Well, if you must know, my blood actually tastes of bile. You see, it serves as a natural precaution against…” He thought for a moment. “Certain entities.”

Astarion had nothing more to say than a simple, “Hm.” The two looked at eachother for a brief second, awkwardly, one weighing his options and the other debating if it was fitting to run away. Fortunately for Gale, within another second the pale elf was gone from his tent, leaving the wizard with a cloud of confusion. And maybe just a bit of fear. He stood there a moment before his eyes slowly trailed to the book now on the other side of the tent. He remembered the bloodless boar on the side of the road. He pictured Astarion’s scarlet gaze, burning with desire for something unfathomable. Suddenly he knew the answer to his problem.

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Gale had been watching the two of you ever since that unsettling night. He had witnessed some unsavory moments, yes, but everyone has to make their sacrifices. And his sacrifices were undoubtedly worth it— every night he stayed awake long enough to watch the elf make his way into the forest to sustain himself on blood from some unknown source. This night in particular was one that would change everything. This night was the night he would reveal Astarion’s true nature to you.

After witnessing Astarion make his way into the forest for his nightly ritual, Gale hurriedly makes his way into your tent.

“Y/N? Y/N! Wake up now, this is dire!”

“Huh—“ You, wide awake, turn around to Gale’s face a few mere inches from yours. “Gale! Why the hells are you in my tent?” You hiss, backing up to escape his pleading puppy eyes.

“No time for questions, we must go into the forest! There, a truth will be uncovered, and you will be free from the vampire’s wicked hold!”

You’re about to ask Gale to speak like a normal person, yet he quickly grabs your hand and drags you outside before you can protest. “Gale, this isn’t really—“

“I assure you it is!”

Without another word he leads you both onto Astarion’s trail. The only problem is that Gale does not seem to know exactly where the pale elf has wandered off to, as he has never before made the courageous decision to follow him into the unknown abyss of the woods. You watch him anxiously look around and mutter to himself. You sigh knowingly, turning away from him and walking on a path you’ve traced many times before.

“Wait, wait! It is incredibly dangerous and you do not know where your judgements may lead you!”

“I promise you I do.” You pointedly say, leading him deeper into the forest so familiar to both you and Astarion. You stop as you reach an area uncovered by the canopy of leaves.

“Why-“ Gale begins before catching sight of the perpetrator. There he is, standing there in the moonlit clearing, shirtless. Gale would probably take more notice to the current scenario if he did not already have a speech planned.

“You- You creature! I knew there was something foul deep within you from the moment we met! I recognized your intent all along— to simply deceit every innocent being you came upon, to lead them under your malicious influence. But here I stand, shattering your mask and revealing your true being: a vampire! Cower under my fireball—“ Gale stops for a minute, trying to remember what to do next, before quickly summoning a fireball in his hands like he originally intended. “And consider our fight… BEGUN!”

The crickets chirp as he finishes his lengthy speech. Astarion is the first to speak.

“…Is that all?”

“Yes. W-was it not obvious?”

With Gale’s answer, you and Astarion immediately break into a fit of laughter. Gale stands there, confused, quickly glancing between the two of you and wondering what the joke was.

“And what are you gonna prove my ‘true being’ with, oh wise wizard?” Astarion smirks, still collecting himself.

“With—! With…” Gale pauses, looks around in a panic, and realizes a key factor of his plan is missing. There is not a bloodless life to be seen. “What in the realms— Why are you here, then, Astarion? What do you sustain yourself with? Answer me!”

Astarion merely purses his lips, rhythmically tapping his fingers to the side of his face. He gives Gale a pitiful pout. “Oh dear… This is a bit awkward, isn’t it?”

And suddenly Gale realizes. He turns to you immediately, the fireball now accidentally pointed at you. “You knew?!”

You raise your hands in protest, eyeing the fireball in his hands. “I-I mean, yeah. Like, everybody knew. Except you, of course.”

“What?”

“They are right,” Astarion adds, “Nobody told you because you are a little… well… extreme.” A pause. “And desperate.”

“I’m— I’m not—!” Gale’s fireball just burns brighter, and you begin to think it’s enough to send the entire forest into flames. However, you’re more worried about the possibility of him literally exploding and obliterating everything in his proximity. You glance towards Astarion, whose eyebrows are furrowed at the same thought. The resentment in Gale’s eyes grows brighter with the flame. Yet, suddenly, the fire disappears. The wizard looks as if he’s about to collapse into despair at any moment. “I don’t understand! You make no sense!”

He turns towards you and points an accusing finger. Astarion just shrugs as you glance towards him. “Even when I am right in front of you, laying down my life, you do not care! I am a respectable wizard, name known to beings far and wide! What does he offer, huh?”

You silently raise your eyebrow. Gale just scowls.

“Ugh. Typical.” And with that he whips around, his sleep robe lashing behind him. As he storms off he adds, “Don’t even add me to your party tomorrow. Or ever.”

You weren’t planning on it.

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So a few days ago I posted something about making a ‘nice guy’ Gale fanfic but not posting it out of shame and I ended up getting like 30+ likes so I thought it was only fair to actually post. Anyway please don’t hold me accountable for this k thanks love u guys I’ll probably have LOTR content soon

[mothmimic]

Suffocating

‣ pairing: Legolas x Maid/Healer!reader

‣ words: 1639

‣ content: basically childhood friends, unbalanced power dynamic, Legolas is a littleee jealous and petty (as in like… a lot), Legolas being too clingy and a little questionable, suggestive near the end, pleading men <3

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‣ summary: Legolas had chosen you to be by his side from first glance. Even before he could wield a bow, he saw through your status and deemed your soul the same as his. However, his affection for you can be a bit… suffocating.

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Legolas had claimed you before he even knew your name. Call it fate if you will, but something indescribable had seized him the moment you were presented to his father. Like a ripe fruit you had been plucked from your cozy orphanage and displayed in front of the king. At the time you were not sure why you were in this place, a grand castle decorated with exquisite, flourishing fauna and marble cleaned so well it glinted in the sunlight, yet the prince very well knew. A nobody you were— simply an Elven child of mixed blood who had been found abandoned in Mirkwood’s forests— yet your excellence had soon shown itself in your healing. With a few whispered prayers and hands delicately placed, a wound could vanish within minutes. This is why you were here.

Mirkwood was exceptionally skilled in archery, but what was gained in one area was lost in another. The kingdom had healers, like many, yet none that could heal a wound with their own hands. So it was a surprise that you, an unassuming child, had been blessed with the gift of life. It did not take a council to decide that your gift must be fostered and taken care of like the most delicate sprout.

Although your skill was doted on, you, however, were not. You were an elf of mixed blood— the classic story of a rebellious Elven man who had seduced a human woman before vanishing for The Undying Lands was not unique. The story between an elf and human royalty was one that was respectable, yet this was not yours.

Although your royal guidance was intended to help you grow in your healing abilities, it became increasingly obvious your current job was not to heal the innocent. Instead, you were frequently assigned the task of assisting the prince after his rebellious endeavors. From healing his scraped knee after he hurled himself off a tree to even pouring his tea, you were practically his maid at this point.

However, Legolas did not see it as this— you did a lot for him, yes, but he found himself frequently getting into trouble and calling upon your help purposefully, simply longing for your care and attention. He did not have many other young elves to involve himself with, and you were perfectly fine as company. He even admired you, in fact, especially as he watched you use your healing gift on him. You both were taught basic skills such as how to wield a bow and how to analyze Elvish texts, yet you were oftentimes dragged away for additional training in your healing. Times like these he wondered if he was too dependent on you.

And now the prince, far past his coming-of-age ceremony, still wondered the same as he scanned the halls for your presence. His boots could be heard clicking against the pristine floor from even a man on the other side of the castle as he paced the area. Elves from Rivendell had arrived to discuss matters on the group of dwarves headed to reclaim their home from Smaug, and you were nowhere to be seen. Embarrassed to make his affection for you so obvious, he excused his worry as simply making sure you were not late to greet the guests.

“Y/N! Y/N, where in Middle-Earth have you wandered off to now?” He shouted, perhaps to himself. The maids rushing down the hallway did not give him a mere glance. His worry for you was not only typical, but also a frequent point of gossip. He let out a loud sigh and turned, frustrated, finally giving up in his search. He would definitely receive a scolding from his father at this point. Perhaps it would be worth it if only to share the burden of being late between the two of you. He hurriedly retraced his trail to the entrance of the castle, hoping the guests would still be there, yet he abruptly stopped as laughter floated through the halls.

He peered around the wall and outside into the garden, which held the source of the sound, and scowled at the sight he saw. You and one of the Rivendell elves— pale-skinned with hair various shades of hickory, undoubtedly one of Elrond’s sons— sitting on a bench and chatting— No, flirting. It was obvious with the way he was leaning into you, your face lit with joy at the jokes he charismatically threw. The sight was enough to make Legolas seethe with jealousy.

“Y/N.”

The unexpected sound of your name prompts you to jump a bit before looking towards the blond elf. You smile at the familiar face. “Legolas! Where have you been? The guests are already seated.”

“Well, that I would not know. I have been looking for you since I noticed your absence,” Legolas makes his way towards the two of you, eyeing the dark-haired elf as if he were goblin trash. “I see you have acquainted yourself with one of our dear guests.”

You rub the back of your neck apologetically, oblivious to the stare-down happening between the two. “Ah, I apologize. I was at the entrance long before they arrived, although I should have noticed you beforehand to ease your worries.”

Legolas is the first to break the glare, quickly changing his expression to one more gentle, more suitable to one as pure of heart as you. He crouches down to provide you comfort. “Of course. My worry for you is natural, yet it’s nothing to burden yourself with. May I?” The Elven prince takes your hand and holds it firm before you can even respond, almost as if the other may rip you away.

“Yes, but—“ You begin to protest as you look back towards the Rivendell elf, but he is the one to speak next.

“No worries, it is time we all join each other in the dining hall.” He huffs, clearly defeated. It is the prince of the kingdom he is visiting, after all.

And with that, Legolas guides you with him to the dining hall. The other merely trails behind in surrender.

With the rest of the night, Legolas is strangely distant. As you make your rounds offering tea to each elf, Legolas holds his hand over his teacup without so much as a simple “No, thank you.” Instead of contributing to the council like a respectable prince, he stays oddly silent and tightens his jaw in what seems to be annoyance. After a considerable time of him being obviously troubled about something, you follow his incomprehensible glare across the lengthy table to the elf you were speaking to earlier. You observe from the sidelines, expecting his glare to waver, yet it lingers. The other elf just seems to uncomfortably avoid eye contact. Even Thranduil notices enough to make an occasional irritated side glance at his son.

You simply excuse it as a harmless quarrel between princes.

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As the moon exudes her care across the darkened kingdom, Legolas can not seem to quiet his mind as he lays down to rest. His eyebrows tense and his chest tightens at the image of the Rivendell elf practically courting you, and you enjoying it. The thought of you being carried away back to Rivendell by this elf seemed none other than a nightmare. And perhaps it was still possible— the Rivendell group had settled for staying in the guest chambers tonight— perhaps he was making his way to your chamber at this moment. He would knock on your door, gently, as to not startle you, the way Legolas had done so many times before— you would answer, dressed in silk, hair ruffled by your pillowy sheets. In a heartbeat he would confess his attraction from the moment he saw you. You would fall into his arms and he would hold you, softly, as if the dream could break. You both would join lips in a passion, and soon enough you would be his.

And soon enough Legolas is making his way to your door— not too far of a journey, considering your chambers are right next to each other. He pauses for a moment, and two, before he gathers the courage to lightly knock on the wooden door. He awaits your presence, a burning inside his core threatening to swallow him whole. As he waits, his mind trails to his previous nightmare. Perhaps he is too late, he thinks, perhaps this is a mistake—

And soon enough you are there, in front of him, dressed in silk and your hair ruffled from your pillowy sheets. He stands there for a moment, silent and flustered.

“Well?” You sigh sleepily, rubbing your eyes at your interrupted slumber, “Are you alright?”

He sighs. With eagerness or longing you cannot tell. “Tell me you do not want him.” He bluntly states, his mouth moving faster than his brain. He grips both sides of your doorway, leaning towards you, keeping himself from joining you into an embrace. You can see his knuckles nearly turn white.

Your eyes are wide now, confused. “Who— sorry?”

“The Rivendell elf. You do not want him. He is an adventurer, he knows no home. He is not right for you, I assure you, he knows nothing about you. You are just a pretty face to him, but I— I…” He pauses, gasps for air as if he has almost drowned, and completely stops at a loss for words.

You stare at him a moment, his eyes wild and pleading. From the soft gazes he’s given you when teaching you how to correctly hold a bow to the seething glare you saw from him last night, this is unlike anything you’ve seen.

“Legolas…” you begin, but words cannot fathom what you want to say. Instead you lift your hand to tuck a strand of hair behind his pointed ear, gazing at him with newfound vulnerability. The back of your hand trails down his neck before resting on his chest. “He is not the one I want.”

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ok dang it’s like 1 am now. anyway sorry for cutting it off so abruptly I was starting to cringe a little and I just couldn’t do it. also thinking about adding 2 more parts to this but idk if I’ll have the motivation 🤕