Aragorn Study

DAY TWO of @silmsmutweek! "Coast" and "cross-cultural relationships" both suggested to me Finarfin/Earwen, so under the cut is another 400 words of one of their first sexual experiences together. Content note: contemplation of sexual morality in a world with gods who live next door and, uh, butt stuff.

“Those who live outside the Calacirya,” Arafinwe's mother had reminded him, “do not always honor the Valar in the same way we do, here in the fullness of Their light.” And in her frustrating, this is something you need to learn for yourself way, “You must be prepared to choose the ways that seem right to you.”

He understood better, when he saw his friends in Alqualonde slipping away into the shadows beyond the beach bonfires in pairs or triads or more, leading each other by the hand in every possible combination of genders behind boathouses and under piers, to elicit sounds from each other that the humid, starlit air did nothing to muffle.

And while his mother certainly must have an opinion of her own, he had been given leave to decide his own path.

He didn't say no when his best friend took his hand and led him to a small grotto well prepared with quilts and cushions. Nor when she began to kiss him, really kiss him, with lips and teeth and tongue. Nor when she stripped them both of the finely-woven cloth they had been draped in.

Then she asked if he wanted to see something fun, and showed him the suggestively carved rod of ivory and bottle of fragrant olive oil she'd brought along. 

He didn't know why, exactly, he'd agreed to be the one to receive it. Misplaced gallantry perhaps? She'd told him she'd enjoy it either way. Or maybe he was too curious and too trusting for his own good. This time, she made him say yes with his actual mouth before she directed him onto his hands and knees.

She was merely petting him softly along the back and telling him how very good he was doing for her as she slowly, gently pressed her little toy deeper and deeper into his asshole. He was merely gripping the fabric beneath his hands, trying not to weep and failing not to moan at the intensity of the sensation.

They weren't touching each other anywhere they shouldn't, he told himself, though he'd grown achingly hard and she kept wriggling her hips needily. They hadn't even unbraided their hair. He could almost assert that they weren't getting up to anything improper at all. 

But she was the princess of this land, after all. Surely she wouldn’t encourage her best friend into any behavior that might be considered sinful.

They just honored the Valar differently here, was all.

Maitimo with Elros

Do not use without my permission, please

A drawing of Thranduil I made for my amazing friend @tox-ic-world 's birthday ❤️‍🔥

i feel like i do 25% of what an average person does in a day and still it's too much

Arwen✨

i just wanted to say thank you to every fanfic writer out there.

thank you for writing what others haven't, what others can't, what others won't.

thank you for writing what can be judged and hated, but writing it all the same.

thank you for indulging in something that you love and allowing the rest of us to love it with you.

if you have one kudos or one thousand, one comment or one hundred, one bookmark or fifty, i love each and every one of you for writing them.

thank you.

Túrin Turambar (2021)

I still cherish this fanart <3

You promised— He always liked to think that Earendil hated him. It made it easier, somehow. To push back the grief and the guilt and the filthiness that clung to his bones. But his nephew was constantly in his presence, laughing and chattering like a little bird. And Maeglin hated himself all the more for what he had done.

Day 4: Earendil & Maeglin for @nolofinweanweek

Maedhros and Maglor Week Day 1: Treelight

Treelight.

It spills from the box in a glorious familiar mingling of silver and gold when Maedhros opens the lid, and Maglor is captivated despite himself. This is what they have paid so dearly for, these last precious scraps of light that their father preserved and even though he has for a long time now not thought them worth the cost of their souls, he still not cannot look away.

For a moment Maglor is caught up in the memory of standing beneath the shining, flowering canopies with Maedhros, bathed in light and song. He is breathing in the sweetly scented air of his childhood, home again after so terribly long. For one perfect moment everything is right, the Trees are above him and his brother is beside him. Maedhros looks up, awash in gold light that sets his hair glowing like fire, and a strange horrible foreboding grips his heart.

There is no going back.

The Trees are gone and with them the innocence they once had.

In his heart Maglor knows it.

He blinks, sight clearing the memory away and his vision fills with Maedhros’s face as it is now: brittle, drawn with sorrow, and weary with the burden of the Oath.

His brother does not look at him, focused on the jewels that have been their goal for so long. Maedhros will not to let anything, not even him, turn him from them now that he is so close.

The light that surrounds them is forgiving, untouched and pure inside the jeweled containment it shines through, but even as Maglor’s hand draws near he knows that what now surrounds the light is not so kind.

His eyes are already filling with tears, the light of the moon turning them to silver on his pale cheeks.

A moment before his fingertips brush the glittering jewel, he hears Maedhros scream.

@maedhrosmaglorweek