OP no pressure but would you ever draw magolfin. NO PRESSURE. (the addition of fingolfin to the akitasensei femglor universe is just making me THINK THINGS 💦💦)
I will! I have a sketch of them I did a while ago I just need to get around to colour it 😩
note from your mod on any magolfin day late entries (still very much welcome!): i'm on semi-hiatus for the new year. will check in weekly or so and reblog items then!! thank you for magolfinning!
thank you so much to everyone who participated in this noble effort!we're at 48 fics in the ship tag, and 9 new magolfin fics in our collection <3
💠A devout kiss, the saber's hilt by @riding-with-the-wild-hunt
The cultivation of a vice, and its end. (Magolfin Belle Époque AU!)
💠Editorial Discretion by @annarobots
Maglor tells his story. Pengolodh makes it palatable for the reading audience.
💠The Afterparty by @i-am-a-lonely-visitor
Maglor sails to Aman, Fingolfin returns from Mandos, and Anairë plans a wedding.
💠Coronation by @polutrope
The High Queen of the Noldor enjoys a private coronation. (Transfem!Fingolfin AU!)
💠Sinful Songs Through the Screen by @whovianofmidgard
Cam Girl Maglor AU where Fingolfin pays for private video chats of music related sexual activities.
💠Gift Horse by @whovianofmidgard
Fingolfin makes a visit to Maglor's Gap and spends a short vacation there full of good food, music, and cheer, and most of all the delightful company of horses. But the underlying attraction between uncle and nephew is undeniable.
💠started out with a kiss by @i-am-a-lonely-visitor
“One kiss,” Makalaurë whispers. “That’s all that is expected of us. Quick, before they think it more.”
💠Each name a stain upon my lips by @justdrowthings
Nolofinwë and Kanafinwë share their grief for everyone who they have lost and explore some complicated feelings they hold for some of their relatives.
💠Pussy Palace by @seaemberthesecond
Armed with guile, determination, and Anairë’s stolen wedding dress, Makalaurë sets out to give Ñolofinwë a night he’ll never forget. Unfortunately for him, Ñolofinwë has plans of his own.
...plus a beautiful (and rare!!!!) work of Magolfin art by @pujojoi17042, "You are not alone, Káno" 😭
...and a glimpse at @tobermoriansass's upcoming Magolfin Mistaken Identity Opus which we are eagerly anticipating!!
The collection remains open for submissions — every day is Magolfin Day 😌
MAGOLFIN DAY IS HERE, and we are but EIGHT WORKS away from #50ficsmagolfin! can we do it??!! maybe!!!!! is your mod running on dayquil and pure magolfin vibes? yes he is!!
tag @magolfinday and #50ficsmagolfin to share your works, and add to the ao3 collection! and a huge thank you to creators who have already contributed! 🖤
46 WORKS IN FINGOLFIN/MAGLOR!!!!!! magolfin day has already been a greater success than your mod could ever have dreamed!!!!! 4 more works to #50ficsmagolfin before the end of 2025!!!! remember to tag @magolfinday in your promo posts so we can properly hype!!
it may no longer technically be @magolfinday in my time zone, but the revels continue always for those of strong and generous heart.
A devout kiss, the saber's hilt (chapter 1: the honor of a man whose life is spotless) by hautdesert
OR: Nolofinwë, the gentleman, the bourgeois, reasonably prosperous and successful strictly within the parameters of acceptability, allows himself no conscious fantasy but that of love.
5.3k | Rated T (E pending)
“I did not think it was sordid, only unworthy of you,” Nolofinwë answered. The handle of the door was cool beneath his fingers—a thumb’s length, perhaps, between himself and freedom, escape from the cloying perfumed tether of this room which he should never have sought out or returned to. He had only to turn the knob, but his hand was slackening, aching to fall at his side, yearning to reach out for that womanish silk, those frail wrists. He steeled himself. “I see that perhaps I was mistaken. Good evening, monsieur.”
He had gotten the door ajar, at least, for the smell of sweat and powder and cigarettes came in from the hallway, when Laurë caught his sleeve. He had to angle his head to look Nolofinwë in the face: his gently curling hair, damp, fell back around his ears.
“Come to my house,” he said, in the sweet low cadence of entreaty. His eyes were like polished wood, like velvet, dark and fathomless, taking in light without reflecting it. “I would speak with you further—if my profession is unworthy of me, this place cannot be fit for you. Valinórë merits not your slightest glance.” His hand slid down to touch Nolofinwë’s wrist. “Monsieur Arakáno, surely you haven’t found me out these months only to exchange pleasantries. You are a gentleman; you send me flowers, you make me presents. What am I to think?”
“That I am not the kind of man who visits whores,” Nolofinwë said roughly, and plunged into the yellow light of the hall, fleeing from that upturned face as if before the mask of death.
SUNDRY TAGS: Alternate Universe - Historical / Paris / Cabarets / The Dreyfus Affair / The imperial imagination & its many dreams / Period-Typical Attitudes Towards Sexgender & Androgyny / Orientalism / Extramarital Affairs / Period-Typical Antisemitism
“And that, my friend, is how I got myself into this situation,” said Maglor, and sat back, showing Pengolodh his blackened hand.
Pengolodh paused, pen to paper.
The campfire crackled. The waves crashed. The Kinslayer grinned at him.
“I can’t write that,” said Pengolodh.
“In hindsight, I can see that several of our choices were flawed—”
“Not that! Everyone loves a tragic hero.”
“Well, then,” Maglor said, frowning. “What’s the problem?”
“I can’t write about you and your uncle sucking each other’s dicks on the eve of every battle for four hundred years!”
“Oh, now you’re worried about a little narrative repetition? It’s a motif! A refrain.”
Pengolodh shook his head. “I’m trying to legitimize the heir to the Noldorin kingship,” said he, carefully eliding who, precisely, he thought that heir actually was. “This doesn’t help.”
Maglor looked out to the west, tears brimming. “Can you at least make him sound—ah, I don’t know, heroic?”
“How about this:
But Fingolfin gleamed beneath it as a star; for his mail was overlaid with silver, and his blue shield was set with crystals; and he drew his sword Ringil, that glittered like ice.”
“And you're sure—nothing about his dick? You won't budge?”
“I can call him most steadfast and strongest of the princes, how’s that?”
Maglor sighed. “I suppose that will have to do.”
In the midnight sky, the stars twinkled, bright and clear. Eärendil sailed above. Pengolodh’s pen scratched on his notepad. (The Noldor had invented notepads, by then, and, by luck or eucatastrophe, had salvaged an astonishing number of them from the ruins of their many destroyed cities. Very convenient for the many drafts he would need to write. He had a lot of dicks to redact.)
“Now,” said Maglor. “Let me tell you about my brother Maedhros.”
Summary: Fingolfin makes a visit to Maglor's Gap and spends a short vacation there full of good food, music, and cheer, and most of all, the delightful company of horses. But the underlying attraction between uncle and nephew is undeniable.
Snippet:
"Hail, High King, and be welcomed at the Gap!" Maglor's sonorous voice called out over the plain as Fingolfin and his escort rode through the tall grass and blooming milkweed.
It was a rare thing, if ever, that the High King would leave his stronghold of Barad Eithel, and especially to come East to his half-nephews' lands. The Fëanorions - other than Maedhros - in turn did not make the effort to travel West either, though in Maglor's case it was excusable, defending the large stretch of wide-open flat lands at the Enemy's front porch so to say. All this to say that Maglor hardly ever left the Gap, save the short stints to Himring and Thargelion when the need to check or bother his brothers arose, just as Fingolfin stayed in his own fortress, making the Dagor Aglareb the last time uncle and nephew had seen each other, and not once since the Long Peace had set in, if memory served right.
Maglor was also rapidly remembering why meeting with Fingolfin was always such a difficult affair. Just looking at him, tall and proud, dressed in light leather armour for long travel, a circlet of precious mithril and gold adorned with white adamant shining against the backdrop of luscious dark locks woven in tight braids... and riding atop the back of Rochallor, a pure bred stallion of fine Valinorean stock, a strong and beautiful specimen of lily white hair. Fingolfin seemed a vision of a romantic hero from a great epic ballad of Maglor's most inappropriate fantasies, and no matter how wrong it felt, he could never quite grow out of this infatuation.
"Thank you, Makalaurë," Fingolfin graciously accepted the welcome and urged Rochallor to a stop before the Lord of the Gap. Then the regal mask of a king somewhat slipped from his face to reveal a slight warmness.
"However, let us do away with the titles. While such formality is unavoidable with Maedhros, and I'll likely have some business with Carnistir, this is more of an unofficial visit."
"Am I to understand that my wild plain is your vacation destination?" The corner of Maglor's mouth curved up as he liltingly teased.
A real bashful smile broke through the royal trappings across Fingolfin's lips, doing odd things to the standard rhythm of Maglor's heart, saying, "If you would not mind, nephew."
"Of course, Uncle Nolo," Maglor replied, and led the small party into his settlement.
LITERALLY forever ago @sallysavestheday, @riding-with-the-wild-hunt and @balrogballs tagged me to share a tiny snippet of what I'm working on. This was meant to be done for @magolfinday for @i-am-a-lonely-visitor but unfortunately life came at me fast, so here we are. Not tagging anyone, but if you would like to share a WIP snippet, please do! Here is a little snippet from transfemglor and Fingolfin flirting at a masquerade in Georgian England Tirion, except Fingolfin thinks that's his brother in drag for various comedy of error reasons:
“Not at all, my lady,” he said guardedly. “I would merely have the pleasure of truly knowing with whom I speak.”
“What lives in a name but the power of mastery?” The reddened mouth arched into a pretty little bow, accentuated by the deftly placed heart-shaped patch at the corner. “The nameless woman belongs only to herself and may roam as she pleases. The wild horse who is named is bridled and trussed for the speaker's pleasure. You would seize my name and then be king over me — and I would be your humble servant, at your service and at your pleasure, would I not?”
These too were words his brother had spoken, but now twisted and turned, mixed with such vulgarities a man of lesser stature would have blushed in embarrassment. Heat spread through him at the thought of that rosebud bosom, reddened by its trussing. And what a thing to feel! His own brother — no this was a vile, vile game.
“No, my lady is mistaken,” he protested. “One merely wishes —”
“But how disappointing!” A wicked smile grew beneath that silvery mask. The beautiful alto grew husky. “I did not say I was uninterested in being unkinged and ruled by your undoubtedly iron sceptre.”
“I have no wish to rule anyone, least of all you, Fëanáro,” he said in a low voice. “Cease this game immediately.”
“But you do want to be a king.” A brief smile, sly, knowing and infuriating. “All men want to be kings — and thou not least amongst them, my lord Istarno.”
Fingolfin’s cock twitched. Two could play at this game of vulgarity, but if Fëanor thought he would win simply because of his mastery of their tongue, he was highly mistaken.
“In your last life you managed to marry your nephew—twice, I’m told—without so much as a wedding cake. Well, now you’re back, and he’s back, and this time we’re going to have a proper party, and we’re inviting everyone.” Only now did Anairë hold out a hand to hoist Fingolfin up. “You and I are divorced, by the way.”
~
Maglor sails to Aman, Fingolfin returns from Mandos, and Anairë plans a wedding.
The Afterparty | 17k | M
thus concludes the magolfin sex comedy trilogy on this fine @magolfinday 🖤 — with a post-canon (tragi-?) comedy.
MAGOLFIN DAY IS HERE, and we are but EIGHT WORKS away from #50ficsmagolfin! can we do it??!! maybe!!!!! is your mod running on dayquil and pure magolfin vibes? yes he is!!
tag @magolfinday and #50ficsmagolfin to share your works, and add to the ao3 collection! and a huge thank you to creators who have already contributed! 🖤
46 WORKS IN FINGOLFIN/MAGLOR!!!!!! magolfin day has already been a greater success than your mod could ever have dreamed!!!!! 4 more works to #50ficsmagolfin before the end of 2025!!!! remember to tag @magolfinday in your promo posts so we can properly hype!!
MAGOLFIN DAY IS HERE, and we are but EIGHT WORKS away from #50ficsmagolfin! can we do it??!! maybe!!!!! is your mod running on dayquil and pure magolfin vibes? yes he is!!
tag @magolfinday and #50ficsmagolfin to share your works, and add to the ao3 collection! and a huge thank you to creators who have already contributed! 🖤
Pussy Palace (7264 words) by Anonymous
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Fingolfin/Maglor (Tolkien)
Characters: Maglor (Tolkien), Fingolfin (Tolkien), Fëanor (Tolkien), Anairë (Tolkien)
Additional Tags: Incest, Uncle/Nephew Incest, Infidelity, Established Relationship, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Trans Maglor (Tolkien), Years of the Trees (Tolkien), Not Compliant With Laws and Customs Among the Eldar, But not not compliant you feel me?, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, merkins, Coitus Interruptus, Feminization, Humiliation, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, Dom/sub Undertones, Cock Warming, Pussy Spanking, Clit Play, Sexual Overstimulation, Blow Jobs, Under-Desk Blow Jobs, Ass to Mouth, some unclefucking typical daddy kink vibes, maglor is president of the itty bitty titty committee, anaire isnt actually present but she is in spirit, and by that I mean her wap haunts maglor
Summary:
Armed with guile, determination, and Anairë’s stolen wedding dress, Makalaurë sets out to give Ñolofinwë a night he’ll never forget. Unfortunately for him, Ñolofinwë has plans of his own.
Featuring Makalaurë’s itty bitty titties, a never-ending pile of paperwork, burgeoning nationalism, an unexpected appearance from Fëanáro, and, of course, the Finwëan arms race.
****
when you think about it, every day is magolfin day if you have love in your heart and eyes to see.
annaxmalina
jacobvanloon
janainaart
stormborns
germansingergirl
