To Radiate With Inexhaustible Light

[Fingon/Maedhros | Explicit | 2.8k]

Written for the lovely @stormsbreadth for @silmarillionstockings! <3

Tags: Established Relationship, Years of the Trees, Trans Maedhros, Trans Female Character, Fluff and Smut, Body Worship, Blow Jobs, Anal Fingering, Rimming, Featuring my pet headcanon that Fëanor invented HRT

Summary:

There was a time, not so long ago, when Maitimo would have shied away from such singular attention. When she would have shrank from any request to look upon herself with anything more than a passing glance, bared as she is in both body and soul. She has long been an expert at turning the tables, at ignoring the venomous thing twisting up her insides for long enough to force the attention back onto Findekáno, distracting him with her hands or mouth or cock until he has forgotten he said anything at all, or is at least willing to pretend.

Not so, now.

Now, Maitimo looks. Not only does she look— she revels.

***

After transitioning, Maitimo finds herself wanting things she's never before felt comfortable receiving. Findekáno is endlessly delighted by her.

WIP Wriday

Thank you very much for the WIP tags @curufiin @endless-natterings @yewfae ! IDK if this is an art WIP or writing WIP so have both, aka a concept sketch featuring gangly adolescent Elrond on the day he finds out his twin will choose mortality, and the corresponding flashback scene from this little ol’ longfic WIP. Tagging @nycterisg @melestasflight @thescrapwitch @leucisticpuffin @beatles4ever65 @annarobots if you’re keen!

Elrond found himself fixating on the way each swell looked like it was going somewhere until it reached the shore and simply dissolved, performing the same gesture endlessly without variation or purpose. Was that what awaited him? Years stretching forward identically, each one arriving with the suggestion of difference only to reveal itself as more of the pointless same? Refusing to decide was still deciding, he understood that. Inaction was slower violence, measured against the self. His brother had already decided. Elros would age, would die, would escape the world by letting it consume him. Elrond could do the same. Or he could choose the alternative: to be a permanent witness to their temporary lives, to love such bright little things while they lasted. Neither looked like living. And yet living looked like dying. Living sounded like hoofbeats, screamed like a woman hurtling off a cliff, tearing a seam in the world. Felt like two breathless boys, standing hand-in-hand in the split holding a ragged edge each, trying to determine which fall they could survive. Coming to the conclusion that it was their entwined fingers which would have to loosen from each other’s, if neither were to drown.

Elrond was certain of one thing. When you're born where the sinking shore meets the sundering sea and neither wanted you there because neither was where you were meant to be born, you learn that home is simply the place you happen to be standing when the next tragedy arrives. It was the first moment of foresight, as unlooked for as the others. All the worst moments of his life would happen upon such seashores, lukewarm sand drifting comfortingly beneath his dug-in heels.

all's fair

[Fingon/Maedhros | Explicit | 2.9k]

Written for Day 1 of @silmsmutweek — Bathing/Washing/Hair Kink

Tags: Post-Canon, Re-embodiment, Getting Back Together, Porn with a sprinkle of Plot, Light Angst

Summary:

He wants—oh, Fingon wants so many things. To flee the bathhouse, first and foremost. To meet Maedhros halfway, forget about the ruin they have made of each other—slowly, meticulously, over centuries—and kiss him until their lips are bruised and their lungs empty of breath. Wants to laugh at the absurdity of it all, and perhaps wrap his hands around Maedhros’ throat, ask if he still prefer that Fingon kill him, bloody his own hands once more in ways that can never come off, if only it will bring Maedhros his much-sought salvation.

Fingon wants; ever has it been his greatest vice, that hunger that gnaws through him, makes him reckless, selfish, rapacious.
—
Fingon merely needed a bath. Maedhros, as ever, complicates things.

Maglor 🌊✨