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.

Little moments of reflection with Maglor as he comes to terms with grief. A collection of drabbles and other short writings to accompany One in the Deep Waters.

Maeglin tries his hand at the Beginners' prompts of the Matryoshka Challenge (Total crack)

Egalmoth has his fears, when Earendil sets sail, but also pins his hope on him.

Fëanáro was sitting on the floor, his back against the grave marker his father had had made for his mother when her spirit fully settled into Mandos’ Halls.
He was alone on Estë’s island, deep within Lórien’s gardens. Of course he was. When was he not?
Even his father didn’t bother coming anymore.

Compared to Salgant and Bombur, and even compared to Fredegar Bolger, Forlong seems to have the least problems in the Legendarium with being duly respected despite his girth.
But maybe even he had a less good time of it when he was younger.
Set during Aragorn's time in Gondor as Thorongil.

Valandil, Isildur's fourth son and successor, re-enters Annuminas, some years after the victory of the Last Alliance.

Fingolfin does not look up from his book when he hears footsteps approaching and pays no attention to Fëanor walking into the room. What he emphatically does pay attention to is Fëanor going to his knees in front of the chair he is sprawled sideways across and burying his face against Fingolfin’s stomach, both of his hands clenching tight around Fingolfin’s shirt. He blinks down at Fëanor’s head in confusion and runs a hand over his head, dragging his fingers through Fëanor’s hair. “Náro?” he asks quietly. “Has something happened?”

Celegorm suddenly felt like he was suffocating.
In a moment in Himring, Celegorm felt that Huan was dead.

Three years after Arathorn's death, Gilraen receives a letter.
It contains a short poem and a sprig of rosemary.

In the end, the master of lies made the mistake of underestimating him.
A story of Celebrimbor, the last of the House of Fëanor in Middle-erath.

Gloredhel writes to her brother, after his sons have gone missing.
We know that Hurin and Huor were rescued by Eagles and carried to Gondolin, but their relatives, at this point, don't.

Mithrellas has arrived too late at Belfalas to meet Amroth alive, but she hears his voice on the wind.

An old spring festival is revived in Lindon.

Usually, the Elves appreciate being heard by Varda and call on her.
Galadriel finds herself making an exception.

Much is said in the tales of Turin and of Tuor about the severity of the Fell Winter.
But what would it be like when such a long winter was finally over?

Fëanor does not even get a chance to finish being annoying before Fingolfin’s eyes flash with something far too dark to be only fury and his hand snaps out to grab a handful of Fëanor’s hair. He wrenches Fëanor’s head back in a move that is so surprisingly painful it throws him off balance. In the same moment he kicks Fëanor’s feet out from under him and slams him to his knees. He forgets sometimes he thinks, feeling a bit dazed, that Fingolfin had not only fought Morgoth, but lasted an impressive amount of time against him.
Fingolfin pulls his head back until they lock eyes, says, “Why must you be so—” his voice cracks, anger seeping out of every fracture line cracking through his body. He studies the ice in Fingolfin’s eyes and thinks, we never talked about the boats. Not in truth.

After the First Kinslaying, the Teleri look around and see the environment of Alqualonde in a new light.

Long after the Fall of Eregion, a survivor returns to face her memories.

Fingolfin would like to say that it was an accident. And perhaps if it had started and ended with a kiss he could have lied to himself and said that. As it is, it’s rather hard to say it was an accident when it has gone well past a kiss.

In which Celegorm tries to do some reconnaissance on Doriath, finds some children in the woods, does his good deed for the century, and promptly gets taken prisoner for it.
Dior's bitter he can't just murder Celegorm. After all, he's not one of the eldar, it doesn't count as kinslaying if he does it.
Nimloth's impressed no one is dead yet and plans on keeping it that way for as long as possible.

“Dior, son of Luthien,” Námo intones, “you do not belong in these halls. I will show you the way to where your path is meant to lead.”
Celegorm looks to Dior and tilts his head in curiosity at the defiant look being directed at Námo. “No,” Dior says, voice hard. “I feel no call to follow the path of men. I will stay in the halls with my kin.”
“I was not presenting it as a choice,” Námo says severely and Celegorm frowns. Sees Curufin across the room shaking his head and gesturing for Celegorm to join him. He thinks to but then looks at Dior again and gets distracted by the look on his face.
An animal backed into a corner, his mind supplies, glancing down at the way Dior’s fingers are beginning to press into Celegorm’s fëa from how hard he is gripping Celegorm’s wrist.
Dior bares his teeth. “I was not either."

Maglor, having little will to live left in sinking Beleriand, is saved by tiny things.

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.

Fingolfin feels like part of him is still stuck in Beleriand, blood on his teeth and an all-consuming anger splintering out of control. Like he'll blink and once again see Morgoth's foot coming down. He wants. What does he want? He does not wish to be dead. He is, he supposes, grateful for this chance to fix things as much as they can be fixed. But he wants.
He wants for Fëanor to know him. Wants to work through all the ugly words and acts of violence that had divided them and come out the other side better for it. He cannot throw all the scathing anger in his chest at a brother who does not understand. Cannot scream at this Fëanor for burning the boats, for leaving them to the ice, for Elenwë, for Arakáno, for the countless others who had followed him and paid for it. And so what is he meant to do with the anger? He cannot swallow it all down forever and also salvage his relationship with Fëanor in this new song.
He wants, he thinks, watching a potter unmake a bowl that was marred, to un-sing himself as well.
Sketches inspired by the 2025 Birthday Bash challenge prompts!