#adar x erenye

[baddybaddyadardaddy]

OKAY YOU GUYS, this nonsense is now POSTED, and I'll be updating here going forward.

NOBODY LOOK AT ME, I cannot believe my life has come to this.

@niennawept @catz4ever @eowyn7023 @mylovelylittleobsessions @spiritofwhitefire @plotdesigner @toddthekiwibird @clumsycopy @dark-silhouette

[baddybaddyadardaddy]

Y'ALL I'm yelling about this because the vibes are PERFECT and my babies actually get to have A SPICY GOOD TIME 🌶🌶 😅😅

Until the Stars Burn Out

Adar/OC romantic smut, based on @baddybaddyadardaddy's opus Awake, Arise or Be For Ever Fall'n. Set in Cuiviénen, before the tragedy of it all catches up to them.

[baddybaddyadardaddy]

my eternal curse appears to be...

attempting to write smut...

...and having it come out as angst and plot.

i promise y'all i'm trying 🤦🏻‍♀️🤦🏻‍♀️

[baddybaddyadardaddy]

Chapter 8 is here, asking the burning question: will Adar and Erenyë finally fuck out their issues?

[baddybaddyadardaddy]

I need to know something - please believe me - there is no actual reason, other than I just thought of this question and it is burning me alive:

If Eren and Erenyë had made it to Valinor with the rest of the Noldor, would they have gone with Fëanor to Middle Earth? And if they did, did Erenyë do any kinslaying? 👀

^^^ when i tell you this is the ACTUAL face i made when reading this, PLEASE BELIEVE ME.

so, after thinking it thoroughly over...

i think yes absolutely they would have followed Fëanor back to Middle-Earth. And by they, i 100% mean Erenyë would have been the one to want to go, and Eren would follow her, because that is just who he is.

so like, my dude isn't completely sold on the idea, but he'd do anything for her, so before you know it there's a sword in his hand and he's maybe doing some kinslaying. 😬😬😬

in any event, the two of them would be looking to protect each other in the battle more than anything else. Erenyë would absolutely cut a bitch to protect Eren, zero questions asked. 🔪🔪🔪

[They would absolutely be deeply scarred from the experience afterward, though. Eren especially. 😢]

[baddybaddyadardaddy]

OH MY GAWSH.

Her face is totally saying "COME ADVENTURE WITH ME, WHAT COULD POSSIBLY HAPPEN TO US?" 😭😭😭😭

Erenyë

For @baddybaddyadardaddy

[baddybaddyadardaddy]

Fanfic writer interview

Thanks for the tag, @niennawept!! (& answering under this blog since the VAST majority of my fic is Adar-related)

How many works do you have on AO3? 14, which feels insane to me.

What’s your total AO3 word count? 202,906, which again... feels insane. I'm pretty sure Adar is to blame for like, 195,000 of those words.

Your top 5 stories by kudos/likes:

Awake, Arise or Be For Ever Fall'n: My longest work, Adar's life story from his awakening at Cuivienen to the Battle of the Last Alliance. (Written and completed pre-S2, so his story after Orodruin erupts is, um, different than in the show canon. So technically it's a fix-it fic.)

sister golden hair: The Adar x Mirdania fic that I NEVER expected to write. This started as a ONE-SHOT and then exploded into an angst-riddled tale of accidental necromancy and Tolkienian zombies. Deus ex Mirdania!!!!

Son of the Darkness: The one-shot that started it all. The moment that my brain became fully unhinged. The original one-shot sketch of Adar's life story.

memories of dancing: A fic I wrote when I lost my mind temporarily pre-siege of Eregion episode premiere and decided to entertain the crack idea that Adar = Celeborn. No regrets.

Blood on My Name: Awwww... a throwback to the days when Kastle (Karen Page x Frank Castle from The Punisher) had taken over my brain. A little AU where a badly wounded Frank shows up at Karen's door in the middle of the night. Midnight MacGyver surgery FTW!

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? I try! I have not been historically the best at this, partly because for awhile I didn't realize that that was what you were supposed to do. >.< Also sometimes I type responses out and my brain tricks me into thinking that I sound way too dumb so I abort mission. But I've been trying to be much better about it because yes, fandom should be a conversation and I'm so grateful for every comment I get!

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending? LMAO TAKE YOUR PICK, I AM THE CAPTAIN OF THE PAIN TRAIN. Honestly, though, I guess it depends on your definition of pain. I think Awake, Arise ended on a hopeful/Tolkienian note, so I actually wouldn't say that one. I think it might be "what law can lovers move," which was a little lyrical Turgon x Elenwe oneshot that I did, inspired by Orpheus and Euryidice. Those two hurt me so good.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending? Mmmmm... I think "in the halls of awaiting," a companion ficlet to Awake, Arise from the POV of Erenyë, Adar's spouse in my canon, as she waits for him in the halls of Mandos. It was SUCH an angsty fic to write, but their reunion made it all better. That said, I DON'T REALLY DO OVERTLY HAPPY ENDINGS, SORRY.

Do you write crossovers? Nope.

Have you ever received hate on a fic? I don't think so.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind? I DIDN'T, AND THEN ADAR X ERENYE TOOK OVER MY BRAIN. "A Knife in the Dark" is the AU smutfest of Awake, Arise and I like to say that it's what happens when you don't let your characters fuck each other enough in the longfic.

Have you ever had a fic stolen? Let's hope not.

Have you ever had a fic translated? Not yet!

Have you ever co-written a fic before? No... writing is kind of a solitary endeavor for me. I'd entertain editing, but probably not co-writing.

What’s your all-time favorite ship? I'm staring at this question going "why can I not think of an answer for this"? I mean this feels so self-promotional/self-indulgent to say, but I'm high-key obsessed with my OC Erenyë and I've definitely dedicated the most brain space to shipping her and Adar over the past two years. Turgon and Elenwe also have OTP status in my brain, as well as Kastle and SANSAN.

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will? Mmmmm... I think maybe "Tides of Fate Onward Run"? I started this something like TEN YEARS AGO, and the basic idea was to tell the story of Gollum and his corruption by the ring through the POV of Nienna. It was a neat little exploration and I had intended it to be a way to explore a lot of the Valar headcanons I have. Maybe one day I'll get back to it...

What are your writing strengths? Mmm... I think maybe my canon adherence? For the most part that is my sweet spot with fic-- I like to craft stories that can fit very snugly into exisiting canon with few deviations. Especially with Awake, Arise, I wanted Adar's story to feel like it could have slipped right out of Tolkiens Silmarillion canon.

What are your writing weaknesses? Ugh I think sometimes I can slip into passive voice and I hate that. Also sometimes I feel like my descriptions are just way too flat and I can fall into "telling instead of showing."

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic? The only other languages I really use are Tolkien's... and I'm for it!

What’s a fandom/ship you haven’t written for yet but want to? Mmmm... well technically I have written for this ship, but I've never published publicly... and may never. It's Lalwen x Fingolfin. It's wrong. It's scandalous. It's a mess of feelings. There's extensive Helcaraxë angst/trauma involved. Don't @ me, they are so compelling to me. I'M UNREPENTANT, LOOK AWAY.

What’s your favorite fic you’ve written? Awake, Arise! I'm so goddamned proud of that fic. I'd never actually completed anything novel length (fic-wise or original) before I wrote that fic. So that was a big deal for me to do as a writer. And I really felt like I told a damn story.

ANYWAY tagging @brynnmclean, @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 @mylovelylittleobsessions @clumsycopy and anyone else who wants to play!!!

[baddybaddyadardaddy]

Me as hell rn:

WRITE ADAR x ERENYE SMUT!

NO WRITE ADAR X MIRDANIA ANGST!

NO HYPERFIXATE ON ADAR GIFS!

NO MAKE SLUTTY NECK PORN PHOTOSET!!!!

NO WRITE DISSERTATION ON MECHANICS OF URUK x HUMAN PREGNANCY!!!

NO WRITE THAT SLUTTY THREE WAY BETWEEN ADAR/LENNETH/ERENYE!!!

NO WRITE THE ANGST FIC WHERE YOU SEND ADAR TO THE FOREST WITH ARONDIR TO PLANT SEEDS WHILE WINTERBLOOM READS THEM BOTH THE RIOT ACT ABOUT THEIR DEFORESTATION CRIMES!!!!

[baddybaddyadardaddy]

i regret to inform you all that this may, in fact, be happening.

you have been warned.

No one:

Absolutely no one:

Me, after Episode 5: BRING ERENYË BACK AND GIVE HER A KNIFE 🤔🗡

[.]

[baddybaddyadardaddy]

To be so f*cking for real, parts 1 and 2 be like

(this was all i could think of whilst writing it; i'll see myself out)

a knife in the dark

[adar/oc]

This is a slightly unhinged WIP AU for my longfic, Awake, Arise or Be For Ever Fall'n. Highly recommend (ask/beg/implore) you to read at last the first like, 8 chapters of that first or you'll be... um... maybe a lil confused? PREMISE: Erenyë is reembodied in Valinor, but Mandos shrouds her memories of Utumno, hoping to spare her pain in her new life. But she is restless in Aman, sensing that something is missing... She boards a ship heading for Middle Earth, hoping to discover just what that is. [DON'T @ ME ON REINCARNATION MECHANICS, THIS IS PURELY A NONSENSE DRABBLE THING THAT WILL HOPEFULLY EVENTUALLY LEAD TO SMUT BUT MORE REALISTICALLY WILL JUST BE A LOT OF RIP-YOUR-HEART-OUT ANGST BECAUSE APPARENTLY THAT'S ALL I DO HERE. 🫠 ]

i.

She makes her voyage on an elven ship that is nearly empty.

Why would you go across the sea, the other elves ask her, mouths agape, in the days before her departure. Bliss lies here in the West—you will find little comfort on the shores of Middle Earth.

Erenyë cannot answer them, cannot explain why the eastern expanse calls her so. She has heard many among the eldar who made passage home from the Hither Lands speak of the sea-longing that precipitated their journey—but this feels like something even stronger, a yearning for a place, yes, but something more… something that she cannot name.

Whatever it is, she surmises it must be the reason she has never felt quite at home in Valinor, even surrounded by her Noldoran kindred, the ones who had remained after the terrible kinslaying of old.

As she watches the waves pound against the sharply angled bow, wind whipping through her hair, she speaks a silent promise to the waiting horizon: I am coming.  

ii.

The tides of fate flow, and the sea is treacherous.

Their vessel is beset by perilous storms that rage by day and night, and no prayer to Ulmo seems capable of assuaging them. Their instruments fail, and the gale proves too powerful to hold their northward course to Lindon.

She asks how far off course the storm has flung them.  

Toward the Southlands is the answer.  

iii.

They make port in an abandoned Numenorean harbor that the captain calls Pelargir, and it is here that Erenyë takes her first steps into Middle Earth.

The landscape is lush and green, and different from Valinor—for it strikes her as more rugged and wild than the place from which she’d come. The climate is temperate and the air is moist, the trees here are massive, with thick trunks and sprawling branches, growing as they do only in Oromë’s woods across the sea. The forest calls to her—as all forests do—and she wanders eagerly toward the treeline, ready to lose herself in this new world.

But she is stopped by raised voices as a party of men emerges from the woods with warning. They are downtrodden, starving and traumatized, bearing the scars of war and disaster. In due course she learns that they have fled their homeland, several leagues to the east and over the mountains.

With terror-laced voices, they speak of a fire mountain, lately awakened, belching fire and cloud so high that it swallows the sunlight, rendering the land a waste, overrun by orcs. They answer to a single leader, the men tell her—a villain who calls himself Adar.

iv.

Adar.

It is a perplexing name for a servant of darkness, an elvish word.

She ponders the mystery late into the night, after the newly established encampment falls still. The elves had wasted no time in offering aid to the refugees, and Erenyë had done her part, though the forest still calls to her, insistent.

She considers going off alone, but the threat of orcs roaming the hills seeking captives to return to this Adar gives her pause. She knows enough of orcs to understand that the safest time to move through their lands is in daylight, and though she has never encountered one, memories of the stories that had reached her ears in Valinor, and the accounts of the Southlanders strike a deep chord of fear within her breast. She passes the night restless, yearning to roam.

At dawn, a small party of elves from the ship sets off toward the mountains, and Erenyë accompanies them eagerly, taking up a sword and dagger from one of the men who had not survived the night. The elven leader, Telemnion, tells them they must discover as much as they can about Adar and his legions so that a report can be sent north with all speed to High King Gil-glad.

They set a northeastern course that takes them up steep hills as they near the borders of the Southlands. As the day wanes, she catches the scent of smoke upon the air—ash and scorched pine, the smell of instantaneous destruction. Without warning, she doubles over, bracing herself with one hand against the nearest tree, retching.

“Are you well, Erenyë?” Telemnion hurries to her side, his eyes wide with concern.

In truth, she cannot say why the smell affects her so—she only has the keen sense of having experienced it before.

Her mind is filled with visions of ruined land—even before they emerge from the trees on a high precipice just before nightfall and see the blackened remains of the Southlands for themselves—and she knows that the visions are not simply abstractions. They feel like memories.

But it does not make sense—there had been no destruction of that kind in Valinor. Yet as they stop to rest, she cannot shake the sensation of touching ruined ground: of trailing her fingers over blackened, hollow trees, over the bleached bones of dead animals, over ash-laden earth.

As day gives way to night, she watches the skies above turn color. It is not the natural, blue-black of a peaceful night, but a wicked orange glow, cast by flames and smoke. It is yet another strangely familiar sight, and it fills her with blackest dread.

v.

Several nights later, they are attacked by a band of orcs.

They are far outnumbered, and Telemnion cries out to them, telling them to run. With a pounding heart, Erenyë flies as fast as she can through the trees. When she’s confident there is enough distance between herself and the skirmish, she climbs, seeking for the safety of the upper branches of a great oak tree.

In the distance, she sees torches gleaming, and the sound of orc horns pierces the night air. She hugs the trunk of the tree, pressing her body close as though hoping it might open and absorb her into the safety of its bark as the orc army presses closer.

They are chanting something in unison—something that sounds victorious—and it is not long before they are close enough for her to understand it.

Adar… Adar… Adar…

The orcs continue their advance toward her tree. She considers climbing down and fleeing, but the chant soon falls silent, and the flickering torches stop moving.

A new voice fills the air.

It is low and husky, speaking the guttural language of the enemy. She cannot understand a word, but she tips her ear toward it, for there is something, some phantom quality about it that she cannot place. The trees are close in the glen, and with great care, she makes her way from one to the next, sidling toward the voice.

The orc army comes into view, and she can see their leader standing before them. His back is toward her—she can see only his silhouette against the torchlight. He is tall and slender—strangely elven, compared to the other orcs, the majority of whom are stooped and stocky. His presence is commanding, though he does not raise his voice beyond what is required to adequately fill the clearing.

He finishes his address with what is clearly a command for the uruks to set up camp, for they break out into groups, busying themselves with assembling tents and unfurling bedrolls.

Adar, for his part, watches the flurry of activity, then retreats into the shadows of the treeline. He is outside the torchlight now, but Erenyë follows his shape in the dark as it moves deeper into the forest. Keeping a safe distance, she scrambles down from her tree, closing her hand around the dagger she carries. Her heart begins to thrum again, pounding with a mixture of intrigue and terror.

He weaves gracefully through the trees, making no sound. There is something about his bearing that seems ancient, as though he is a part of the old forest itself and she creeps closer, fearing that at any moment, he might be swallowed by the trees, absorbed into them.

Dawn is breaking when he pauses in a clearing, and she realizes that the trees around them have started to thin, their leaves charred. The scent of smoke is stronger here, and with a soundless gasp, she discovers that they have reached the line of the fire-mountain’s destruction.

He kneels down, and she is struck by how suddenly small he appears. The sight of his silhouette stirs something in her—something that originates from that same place of strange recollection.

Why, her heart cries in anguish, does he seem familiar?

Without a thought, she steps closer.

He is crouched beside a green sapling that the fire had somehow spared, fingering the delicate leaves with a reverent—almost loving—tenderness.

She takes another step, disturbing the ground in her wake. A twig snaps beneath her foot; his head whips around toward the sound, and she flies at him, unsheathing her dagger with a cry.

They collide, tussling in the ashes. Erenyë scrambles and struggles with all her might until she lands on top with a dagger to his throat, gasping to reclaim the wind that was knocked out of her in their skirmish. His face comes together in her field of view: grey, mottled skin, covered in scars, thin lips, and shockingly deep, green eyes. She loses herself in them for a moment, as she steps seemingly out of time itself, spellbound by their depths. Her heart accelerates, threatening to batter itself out of its cage within her chest. She leans closer, bearing down on the dagger that is still pressed against the flesh of his neck.

He draws in a sharp breath and as the blade bites into his skin, drawing a few drops of black blood. His eyes close, and his exhale is a soft moan, she presumes of pain, but she recognizes it as excitement, somehow. Pleasure.

She squeezes own her eyes shut, striving to steady herself, for it seems as though the ground itself is now swaying beneath her. She feels it again—the familiarity, the certainty that she has heard that sound before—no, not just heard it, she has been the cause of it.

He is no longer struggling—his body is languid beneath her, boneless. She clenches her teeth, confused, weighing her next move. He is the enemy; he and his army are responsible for the fire-mountain, for the destruction of the forest, for the torment of the Southlanders. She should let the dagger finish its work—drag it across his throat, spill the rest of his black blood here upon the ashen ground.

He murmurs something, something in a language that sounds like elvish, but it is older: an archaic form—one that she has only ever seen preserved on ancient scrolls. A dream, this is a dream, he rasps over and over, in that same low, husky tone that sends a shiver rolling down her spine, but not one borne entirely of fear.

The sound of the ancient language comforts her. Inexplicably, she thinks of stars, and the sound of water falling gently over stone. 

She feels him shift and opens her eyes, preparing to defend herself. But he does not attack—instead, his hands seek for her hips, sinking softly into her flesh as he drags in another quaking breath. He wears an iron gauntlet on one hand, and it digs into her side, stopping just on the edge of pain.

Her stomach roils at the sight of this creature, this thing, this orc touching her, but her skin tingles beneath his fingers, even through her tunic.

She lets the dagger drag another quarter of an inch across his throat—she isn’t sure if she intends it to be a warning or an invitation—and he groans again. Tremors roll steadily through her body now; she feels she is dancing on the edge of a dangerous precipice, and she does not know whether to seek for safety or let herself fall into it.

He opens his mouth, and breathes a single word:

“Erenyë…”

Fear wins out—the sound of his name upon her tongue sends an earthquake through her body and she moves automatically out of shock and terror. With a strangled yell, she yanks the dagger into the air. He tries to rise, but she is too quick, slamming the butt of it against his temple—hard.

He falls back, unconscious, and she clamps a hand over her mouth to stop the scream that threatens to break free.

tagging @catz4ever @toddthekiwibird @eowyn7023 HERE YA GO MY FELLOW BADDYDADDY BRIGADERS

[baddybaddyadardaddy]

@firelightinferno OKAY, OR THAT TOO 🥵🥵

it’s nothing, just adar looking particularly DADDYLICIOUS and menacing, carry on.

[baddybaddyadardaddy]

EEEK I read this absolutely GIDDILY, thank you @niennawept for writing this for my BABIES! <3

WIP game: I gotta know more about Untitled Document.

Just answered here: x

Thank you for asking!

[baddybaddyadardaddy]

this unholy AU is 1,600 words long... and counting. it even has... plot.

help.

No one:

Absolutely no one:

Me, after Episode 5: BRING ERENYË BACK AND GIVE HER A KNIFE 🤔🗡

[.]