New and Updated Fiction

Tuor and Elwing’s recreational sailing excursion goes terribly awry when a carnivorous siren casts her gaze upon their vessel. With her song, she enchants the mariners and boards with evil intent. She kills and eats their crewman, she demands Tuor’s hand in marriage, and for dessert, she plans to eat Elwing. A vile, terrible creature is she!
And then things take a turn for the worse.

A fill for the 2026 Rare Kink Buffet, a Bad Guys Made Them Do It story.

Of course it was a trap.
Maitimo has to survive. He must. But what price is too high to pay for survival?

Rescued from a brutal Angband hunt, an ex-thrall with a strange and powerful artifact embedded in his spine is brought to Himring, for it is one of the only places in Beleriand which welcomes such folk. Though he has no memories of his life before, Anniavas slowly becomes accustomed to his new life and finds he has a queer connection with Maedhros, Himring's lord. As their intimacy grows, however, so do the dangers surrounding them, both without and within. What secrets are hidden inside the depths of Anniavas's lost memories--and how will those with whom he is forging and deepening bonds react, when those secrets are at last revealed?

Fëanor shrugged, studying the contents of his wine glass. “Something must be done about that house. It will fall down eventually.”
“It does not follow that it must be you that tears it down single-handedly. Are you sure you do not want help?”
“It’s not as though I have much else to do. I need to build something new there,” he said after a few moments. “To do that, I must first clear away the old and broken things.”

Decades out of Mandos, too many things in Fëanor's life remain broken. He can't do anything except wait for his sons to come to him, but he can do something about the old and crumbling house where they once lived. 

As beautiful as he is dangerous, Aegnor, an elven prince, stands against the looming shadows of Angband. Brother to Galadriel, he commands the siege with a fierce intensity, a duty that exacts a heavy toll on him. But beneath the iron walls he has built lies a broken soul, haunted by a devastating trauma and a well of deep, guarded secrets. His demons, kept at bay by his unyielding intensity that is both his greatest gift and his biggest curse. 

Little does our Noldorin prince know that a chance encounter with a terrified young girl of men will set him on a collision course, igniting an extraordinary bond wrought with challenges, sacrifices, and intense love that threatens to unravel his guarded heart, and all he keeps within it.

Brace yourself for Part I of this captivating tale, where the primal power of love and devestating loss will tear lives apart forever.

When uneasy dreams bring him back into Beleriand, Daeron finds a pair of twins who have lost their home, and an enemy who has lost himself. The Shadow's reach is growing ever longer, and if they are to survive, they must do it together.

Erestor lay up against a tree, brown washed to black in the wet of the snow. The black disc of the new moon sailed across the dark sky. Erestor wished it were gone. He had no need to look into dark eyes any longer.

He was dying.

(AKA Erestor unwittingly travels back in time to the days between the Dagor Bragollach and the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, meets the sons of Feanor, Thingol and his ilk, many Laiquendi, many Dwarves, and Men besides, and THEN decides to solve the drowning of Beleriand himself. This has nothing to do with his personal problems. Nope. Not at all. Erestor is having regular feelings.)

She shook her head, quietly reveling in the physicality of having her wife’s hands on her. “How can I hold you at fault for the events of the past centuries when you have not been here, able to act?”

Indis has been summoned to the Halls of Vairë on behalf of one thought lost.

The Mouth of Sauron visits the Witch-King in her newly-founded kingdom of Angmar.

A Dwarven merchant travels from Nogrod to the far south in search of greater wealth – and finds something else entirely. 

At the End, when Morgoth, cloaked in doom, came forth through the Door out of the Timeless Night and into the world, it was the Sun he sought before aught else. 
An eclipse, thought Elwing, on the wing with her flock. What else could bring nightfall at noon?

Elwing and Arien, together in a little boat on the wide seas at the end of the world.

During a visit to Círdan, Finrod discovers a new hobby involving tying ropes around various objects.  Now, he's ready to take it to the next level, but there is a small kink in the plan - he wants a spotter to make sure everything goes well.  Fortunately, Edrahil is available.

Galadriel finally has room to breathe.

Need an elfling-sitter? Save time! Call The Elfling-Sitters Club and reach seven six experienced sitters.

Fingon, President
Daeron, Vice-President
Pengolodh, Secretary
Finrod, Treasurer
Maglor, Alternate Officer
Salgant, Snack Officer

Daeron has an important question to ask Maglor. And no, it’s not “can I get some more art supplies for my Kid-Kit?”

A Baby-Sitters Club fusion story, set in the 1980s.

Elwing is fleeing towards the Havens of Sirion when she spots a nightly visitor. 

A princess and her sheepdog. (Drabble featuring a young Ancalime.)

"Move farther north," Caranthir says to her a month after the attack, gaze steady on her even as his hands continue briskly gutting fish. "There is plenty of land closer to my fortress, and my people can help protect yours if there is another attack."

Haleth looks up from her own fish, frowning a bit at the sight he makes. Even after a month, she hasn't grown used to the sight of this elvish prince so casually working with the rest of them. She opens her mouth to refuse, proud of her people and their independence, having no desire to be indebted to anyone, but the words catch in her throat as she meets his eyes. She thinks treacherously of his mouth against the inside of her wrist, and what comes out instead is, "How close to your keep are you trying to drag us? And what is the cost?"

Or: Caranthir asks and Haleth agrees. This does not mean they were prepared for what follows.

Later, Fëanáro will look back on this moment, on finding Melkor bearing down on Ñolofinwë, and try to brush off the panic that had gone striking through him as irrelevant. It is a panic he would have felt no matter who was engaged in such a foolish fight and so, it does not matter.

Lies, even to oneself, work best when they are shrouded in truth. This does not make them less of a lie.

Or: Loop 4 & a glimpse into Fëanáro's thoughts at the start.

With any luck, he will simply be able to keep Finrod alive until Beren gets himself killed as he is destined to do, and then he can drag Finrod back to Nargothrond alive and well. It will not be an end that leaves Finrod once more in Curufin’s bed, but it will be an end that he can live with. Curufin needs Finrod to live, every other ending leaving him with bile on his tongue and nausea haunting him. He knows this is foolish. He knows he is ruining the carefully crafted plans he’s been building for years, cutting all the strings he’d been ready to carefully pull, but when he closes his eyes—

When he closes his eyes, he sees blood caught in the dulled yellow of Finrod’s hair, blood on his mouth, his cheeks, blood weeping from his throat. Curufin closes his eyes and cannot bear to keep them closed.

“We are going with you,” he says simply, the words like ash in his mouth.

“When we get out of this bedamned frozen wasteland,” he murmurs, pleasure pooling in his stomach and leaving everything glowing golden, “I am going to strip you bare and fuck you until you stop having ambitions higher than you should.”

“And if I do not stop,” Ñolofinwë returns, voice rough and cracking across the words, “if I keep trying to take the crown you do not even enjoy having, what will you do then, brother?”

He burnt himself to ashes, Makalaurë had told them, voice remarkably steady for one who clearly did not want to speak of it. It had taken several back-and-forths of clarification for Ñolofinwë to realize this was meant in the most literal manner possible. His brother had managed to outshine everyone else even on the matter of death itself, and he had been forced to close his eyes for a long minute for fear that he would start crying or laughing, or worse, both.

“What did you do to your hair?”

The crown on Melkor's head is slanted without the stolen Silmaril, and the only thing Sauron feels is contempt.

A new star shines in the sky. They claim it brings hope.

It occurred to Elwing that she had made a mistake, coming along with these strange, fair folk, when Eärendil asked her, in a voice of such heartfelt earnestness that she nearly pushed him down and rubbed his face in the mud, if she wanted to meet Ulmo.
“Er,” she said, instead of enacting violence, “I don’t know. I’m not wild about strangers.”
Eärendil, who was not so easily dissuaded once he had set his course, did not laugh. “But he knows you already. It is only your heart that is estranged.”

Elwing, Eärendil, and the gifts of the River.