New Challenge: Everyman
Create a fanwork about an ordinary character in the legendarium using a quote about an unnamed character as inspiration.

A collection of drabbles primarily featuring male characters from the Legendarium

About the Battle of Unnumbered Tears.

“I do love you, Russandol. You know I do, do you not?”
For a long, drawn-out moment, Maedhros only stares. Something is taking root in his chest, something he knows, then, he will not be able to extricate from himself again. “I know,” he says, voice rough. “I—“
But Fingon stops him, pressing a hand to Maedhros’ mouth. “Don’t, not yet; tell me when we see each other next.”
Five times they share their own small ritual upon separation and reunion, and one time it takes a little longer than either of them can endure to mark its completion.

Everyone, including the Valar, are convinced that Fingon and Maedhros are lovers no matter how many times they explain that they very much are not. When will they get it through their thick skulls that there are other ways to love and be committed to someone? Apparently not soon enough. When the Valar decide to involve Maedhros and Fingon in their meddling, it leads to some interesting circumstances.
A queerplatonic take on Maedhros and Fingon's relationship for Russingon Week, with some Gil-Galad parentage exploration for fun.

And of course, of course it is about the boats. Fingon wants—oh, Fingon wants to forgive Maedhros so badly, but he dreams of leaping flames, of the feeling in his chest like something is crushing his ribs, slowly, inevitably, to dust and grime.
“What do you want, Makalaurë?” he asks again, except that this time, it comes out angry. He has ever had an atrocious grip on his temper.
“You should ask him about it.”
Forgiveness takes time and honesty. Fingon has never been a patient person; Maedhros, in recent times, has not been an honest one.
Eventually, they work it out.

“Have you ever kissed anyone?”
Findekáno stills, and finally looks at Maitimo. Finds him already staring back, unflinching and—hungry, almost, Findekáno would call it, if he did not know better.
“I have not,” he says, his heart hammering madly inside his rib cage. Still, he adds, all bravado, “Why? Have you?”
It starts reckless and stupid. Which is to say, it starts with them.

Little moments of connection with Maedhros. A collection of drabbles and other short writings to accompany One in the Fires of the Heart of the World.

If Aredhel had to listen to one more person heap praise on her brother while she stood right beside him, completely disregarded, she might scream. The praises were well deserved, she must admit. But was it only Fingon who scouted ahead over the treacherous shifting ice of the Helcaraxë? Didn’t Aredhel also take her fair share of that hazardous duty?
In the early days at Lake Mithrim, Aredhel endures a restriction in her freedom after the comparative autonomy she had during the crossing of the Helcaraxë. Fingolfin seems set on weighing her down with safe and mundane duties. Aredhel is not enjoying this one bit. Her father may be able to keep her inside the encampment, but he cannot tame her. She longs to for greater freedom, but when it comes it is not be the victory she was hoping for.

Maedhros finds that regret and pain do not end with death. But it does at last bring release from the oath and he can at last embark upon the long, hard road toward redemption.

"The world is indeed full of peril, and in it there are many dark places; but still there is much that is fair, and though in all lands love is now mingled with grief, it grows perhaps the greater.”
-The Fellowship of the Ring, Book 2, Chapter 6 "Lothlórien"
A collection of drabbles exploring the beauty of mingled joy, hope and sorrow in Tolkien's world.

A poem for the first born sons in the House of Finwe, each one attributed a season - Summer, Fall, Winter, Spring.
Drawing my favorite Gil-galad origin headcanon, wherein Fingon stumbles across a stray war orphan in the battlefield.

The fall of Fingolfin from Fingon's perspective

Maedhros, eldest son of Feanor, is captured by Morgoth and chained to the cliffs of Thargorodrim by his order. There is no hope of rescue until his dearest friend appears. (one-shot)

They passed out of Lhûn and the wider coastline of Middle-earth opened up before his eyes. He had wandered those shores for centuries, and even now he felt the pull of that same wanderlust, and knew he would miss them for the rest of his life. Their wildness, the untamed waves, the rocky shores and the cliffs and the sandy beaches. The gulls, and the dunes, and the tide pools with their ever-changing denizens. Someone began to sing a song of farewell, and other voices took it up. He did not join them.
Maglor keeps a promise, and comes to Valinor, only to find the ghosts he thought he'd left behind are alive and waiting for him.

Fingon leaves a note for his family before attempting to rescue Maedhros

He used to be able to read his brother better than his own mind. He used to think that he would do anything, would bear anything, to have him back.
Maglor’s worst crime to date, he thinks, is that in this, too, he has proven himself a liar.
Maedhros abdicates the throne. Maglor copes, more or less (it's definitely less).

Maglor, Fingon and Finrod go for a picnic, and Maglor is in a bad mood. Written for the Dark Matter challenge prompt: 'the letter E'.

A collection of flashfic, drabbles, and snippets.

Alphangil lives in Eglarest following the Dagor Bragollach, while Fingon remains in Hithlum. During a visit by Maedhros they find a way to bridge the distance.

Alphangil surprises her wife Fingwen and their lover Maedhris in the gardens of Barad Eithel. Fluff and smut ensue.

Following Maedhros averting the burning of the ships, Fingon worries, Maedhros finds a new reason to live, and Fëanor begins to wonder if he has made some mistakes. And underneath it all is enough love that they're all hoping, maybe just this once, it won't end in tragedy.

“No,” he says once more, cutting his father off. The pressure in his chest hurts. He wanted to rest but instead there’s a great, spiked ball of fury dragging itself up his throat. “If you burn those boats I will walk out there and burn with them. I’ll swear it to Eru if you don’t believe me. Damn myself to the darkness twice.” He had intended to burn anyways, may as well go out the way he’d meant to, let his death mean something this time. Let it be for something that matters.
There must be something truly terrible on his face because his father visibly falters.
“You would not,” his father says but his voice wavers slightly.