New Challenge: Title Track
Tolkien's titles range from epic to lyrical to metaphorical. This month's challenge selected 125 of them as prompts for fanworks.

His gaze, inevitably, is drawn back to Finrod, the marred beauty of him. It has not been Curufin who ruined him so—had not been Curufin who had dragged him out of Nargothrond and into the wolf’s den, who had let Finrod protect him with his life. And yet.
And yet it feels oddly fitting, that such a ruined thing should be Curufin’s.
Through careful manoeuvring and a few lucky coincidences, Curufin saves Finrod's life without having to admit to anything so humiliating as having emotions. Contrary to what one would expect, this does not make things all that much easier.
Alternatively: Curufin lies, Finrod lives, and somehow they do still manage to figure it out, for better or for worse.

As Númenor convulses in its death throws, Tar-Míriel converses with a friendly soul before she climbs the Meneltarma to her fate.

Maglor comes alive beneath it all the same; is not proud of the noise that makes it out of his throat and cannot bring himself to care, not even a little. He pushes closer, greedy suddenly, so greedy.
They used to do this often, in a time long past; back when the Trees still washed Aman in hallowed light, when their family had been its own world, without running brothers and mad fathers. Back when there were not yet cousins and mountains of guilt between them.
After Maglor loses the Gap, Maedhros offers comfort in the only way he still knows to.

Orcs: a treatise on dissection.

In that time before he had taken himself and his brothers East, taking Fingon back to his bed had been the last thing on his mind. After, in his cold fortress and alone with his thoughts, he had almost been grateful for it, for never having asked. As if this was something Fingon would still want—the ruined body, the betrayals like landmarks etched into it.
A sweltering summer day during the Long Peace, a cool lake, and a revelation; it is enough to bring back together what Maedhros thought lost.

“Show me your hand,” Maedhros says, once he seems satisfied. At Fingon’s frown, he rolls his eyes. “Your finger; you cut yourself before I got here.”
It hits Fingon like a punch. He had forgotten, the pain fading into the background, and now here Maedhros sits, alcohol and gauze in his naked lap because Fingon had cut himself on what was once, long ago, meant to be a betrothal gift.
He is sure that somewhere, some Vala is laughing at him.
In the wake of Fingolfin's death, Fingon's first instinct is to run East. It has been long years since Maedhros' arms meant comfort, and yet, at the end of it all, it may have been one of his better impulses.

Nimruzimir, a natural philosopher recently out of his apprenticeship, hardly considers himself very important to anyone, least of all his colleagues. When his strange, prophetic fits bring him to the attention of the High Priest, however, he may find that his existence is less superfluous than he had originally thought.

Lilóteo, the erstwhile Royal Physician of the Númenorean court, is waiting to be sacrificed when he receives a strange visitor.
Written for the prompt "And the Empire grows, the seeds of its glory, for every five tanks, plant a sentimental story" + manekimi's OC Death and Sauron or others

Ar-Pharazôn takes part in the first ceremony of the new Temple, and Zigûr is there to help him.

Bob and Nob, hobbit servants at the Prancing Pony, prank the famous tavern sign. Meanwhile, the people of Bree worry about minor threats - a dwarf sighting, a wolf's paw print, and the mysterious Rangers, while failing to notice the two extremely dangerous Nazgul who are sitting at the bar, drinking beer.

Maglor, who earned her place in Mirkwood serving in defense of the realm, has a plan for alleviating the queen's stress, and naturally it involves a great many jewels.

As Isildur and Elendil leave Númenor to the Falas, black clouds circle the island. A strange fortune teller makes her appearance in Tar-Míriel's garden, claiming she talks to the rain. A power Sauron does not possess.

Harad, Second Age. Tar-Ardamin's favourite dancer comes back to him.

Orodreth and Túrin's fascination with each other leads them to delight, and then to disaster.

It begins as a game, in their Tree-lit, happy youth: Touch my mind, and draw what I am thinking. Is it an apple, or a pear?
Fingon and Maedhros, thinking for and of each other.

Elrond’s efforts to heal Gil-galad from a vicious attack bring feelings to the surface that can no longer be ignored.
A Gil-galad/Elrond first time fic.
Written for the 2024 My Slashy Valentine.
Prequel to Under the Ragged Thorn.

When Maedhros and Elros were away, Maglor had his problem to solve with no one else but Elrond.

Fëanáro needs Melkor's secret knowledge to create his Silmarils, but Fëanáro will also be an invaluable asset to Melkor in the Vala’s own game.

All is not as it seems when Thranduil enters the ancestral Feanorian estate, but he fails to fully comprehend the scale and nature of the risk. If he's very lucky, one day he might even get to leave.

Indis knows that Miriel is the only one who understands their connection. This is why it should be Indis who looks after Miriel's body.

Elrond made a choice and needed someone to fullfill it.

After the War of Wrath they were taken again.

It is Fingon -- again -- who leaps the gap that yawns between them.
Maedhros capitulates to Fingon, at last.

Pengolodh and Erestor resolve some differences of opinion, deliciously.

Fingon and Maedhros and the bittersweet taste of love.