#edhellen

[tragedykery]

everybody say thank you elfdict.com

[unyearn]

GIRL YOU STUDY QUENYA???????????

i do!

[elesianne]

Some resources for Silmarillion fic writers, artists, and general enthusiasts, 2023 version

I made a new version of this post since the old one now has some dead links .

The Silmarillion, full text by chapters - the thing itself.

Laws and Customs of the Eldar, full text from The History of Middle-earth: Morgoth's Ring. This essay written by J.R.R. Tolkien, with commentary by Christopher Tolkien, includes information on the elven life cycle and marriage, roles of men and women, Noldor naming customs, the fëa and hröa, death and rebirth, and the complex matter of Finwë & Míriel & Indis. Whether you want to write ‘LaCE’-compliant fic or not, it’s interesting reading.

The Silmarillion Writers' Guild Biographies are great, comprehensive summaries of what Tolkien wrote about a particular character, complete with quotations and references, with some commentary. They’re written by many different contributors so they differ from one another but all are useful when you want to learn about a character. (Older version, characters listed alphabetically)

Henneth Annun character bios contain less commentary but there are lots of them, including for minor characters, from the Silmarillion, Unfinished Tales, The Hobbit and LotR. Bios include facts and quotes about the characters.

Heraldic devices of Silmarillion (and LotR) characters, including heraldic rules among Elves etc. Some are copied from Tolkien’s original drawings while others have been drawn based on descriptions in the books.

Timelines for the events of the Silmarillion on Tolkien Gateway which cannot possibly be accurate for all of Tolkien’s conflicting versions, but they are still a very useful resource

Arms and Armours of the Eldar is a comprehensive list of quotations from Tolkien’s works concerning all things physically offensive and defensive.

Parf Edhellen Dictionary of Tolkien’s languages gathers definitions from multiple other sites. Easy to use.

RealElvish.net Name lists are an excellent resource for finding a name for your OC.

Please note that I cannot guarantee the security or accuracy of any of these websites.

[runawaymun]

so.. reading and looking at your fics and art kinda makes me wanna try my hand at some stuff too (they are just so beautiful and elicit so many feels), but. you seem so knowledgeable and familiar with tolkien/elves lore (and so does everyone else i've started reading in this community of elf-lovers on tumblr haha) and i'm most assuredly not. i don't get so many of the world-building allusions authors make about the history/culture/magic, which is easy enough to deal with when reading, but do you think i'd be able to write anything good with such limited understanding of the world i'm writing in? i'm not even confident enough for modern au's because idek that much about the character's relationships/connections with each other, y'know? but what do you think? would the holes i have or straight up inaccuracies rly weaken the story and interrupt the reader's connection to the world/character's, or could i still get by? tolkien's worldbuilding is so intimidating lol

Oh my goodness, this is such a sweet ask.

I'm really glad that you love my art and writing so much, and I consider it SUCH a huge compliment that it inspires you to make your own! That's what it's all about, honestly.

So first off I just want to address the anxiety around the lore-knowledge and the Tolkien fandom because listen listen listen, there are people of every level of knowledge creating art and fics here. Let me just say that when I first published And the Stars Shine the Same three years ago, I was mostly working off of film knowledge and some vague book knowledge, and I was petrified to post it because of how intimidating the Tolkien fandom seemed. I was so worried about getting this wrong and making mistakes -- so know that you're not alone in that, and it is a very common anxiety in this fandom. The thing is, when I posted that fic I found that people loved it, and that everyone was so nice, and really I have not had anybody (save maybe...one person off the top of my head) get very nitpicky about the lore/language/etc. Everybody else was very nice, loved the fic, and super receptive and friendly.

I promise you that there are so many lovely people in this fandom and that, while they're extremely knowledgeable they're also so friendly. Nearly everybody I know would be delighted if you came into their inbox and asked them a question about their specific area of interest with regards to the Silm and LOTR. There are amazing resources in this fandom, and everybody is very happy to help when asked. When I was getting started I mostly talked to friends, looked at other fanart (because honestly there is a LOT of information packed into how people portray characters in fanart for this fandom), and when I wasn't sure on something I just checked the wikis. I believe Tolkien Gateway is one of the best resources, though I also use The One Wiki to Rule Them All, and this is one of the best resources I've found for just a quick look at common Sindarin phrases, and for everything else I use Parf Edhellen which is an incredibly comprehensive dictionary for Tolkien's various elvish languages. And if you're not sure on something, just send a call out into the void because there are dozens of besties on Tumblr who are happy to offer suggestions for names or phrase translations. There's also so much information on Youtube.

I didn't even get around to reading the Silm and rereading LOTR until I felt like it. Honest to god I looked at the wikis and asked friends for most of the stuff I needed.

And I know how intimidating it can be to build your own story within Tolkien's world, but for me what I liked so much about his work is that--- while he is specific on some things, he's also very vague on others. There is a lot of room for interpretation and your own headcannons and worldbuilding. That was part of why I chose the historical spot I did for Stars and Boundless Sky, because it was sort of "dead space" so to speak with regards to Tolkien's own worldbuilding, and so I was able to play around and do my own thing without worrying too much about stepping all over lore.

But okay, all of that to say: yes you can write good stories without being super knowledgeable. Please believe me you can. You can write whatever you want, so long as you love it, and it is yours. If you have a story you want to tell in Tolkien's little legendarium then please, please do. Tolkien's legendarium is a mythology, and mythologies are meant to be retold and reinterpreted. Tolkien's canon is incredibly loosy-goosey. There are parts of unfinished tales where Christopher Tolkien wrote: "I really couldn't make sense of my dad's notes, so here's everything. Knock yourself out ig" (notably, "Of Galadriel and Celeborn").

And Peter Jackson was fairly faithful when it comes to the og trilogy. Like there are things that I take issue with that are pet peeves of mine, and I know that's the same for a lot of people as well. Everybody has their things they take umbrage with and things they like, but generally if that's your base for knowledge you're going to be just fine to start writing fic. If you decide you want to research more, then that's up to you and the story you are trying to tell! If you're working off of the Hobbit films, that's a little different, but in general the Hobbit fandom is pretty chill when it comes to that. I would suggest reading the book if you can find the time to. It's an easy read and short, and it is very, very different to the films.

With the LOTR books...I know a lot of people are book purists and that's okay, and a lot of people go "oh you really SHOULD read the books", but tbqh as a lover of both, I think the films do a good job of telling you the heart of the story (barring a few characters like...uh. Elrond, whom PJ absolutely butchers, but I digress sorry sorry). The books do add a lot and deepen the meaning for a lot of things, and flesh a lot of characters out (and they're just fun to read), but again... yes you can write good stories without being super knowledgeable. I will say that over and over again nonnie I am grabbing you by the shoulders and looking you dead in the eye: please write your story if you want to. Please do not be afraid to just give it a stab. If you find that your lack of knowledge is holding you back for some reason, just ask! So many people will be happy to answer your questions.

Fanfiction is for everybody. Tolkien is for everybody. You do not have to be the most incredible skilled writer or know the lore really well to be able to write it. Please believe me as a person who was scared to write for the Tolkien fandom and then fell in love: people really do not gatekeep much, and if they do they're assholes. I have met so many lovely, friendly, genuine people by creating stuff for this fandom. You will be okay.

So...ough this got long, sorry. But TLDR: Yes. You can write a good story. If you are worried about holes/the story/characterization getting weakened, try to find a beta reader. They're absolute life-savers. Barring that, start posting, find a friend who as insane about your blorbos as you are, and then share snippets and plot ideas with them and within that kind of community you can get a feel for what's working in your story and what isn't. All of my best friends I have made on here are people who read my fics and have been so helpful in offering suggestions.

There are many resources, everybody is friendly, it is not as scary as it looks. The most important thing is that you have fun. Write what you want to write. It doesn't have to be good. All that matters is that you enjoy it.

[madwomansapologist]

Autumn Thunderstorm | Chapter 3 - A finite deal

Navigation | Series Masterlist | AO3

series synopsis: Thranduil thought the recent attack of spiders on a periphery village was the only thing deserving of his attencion. If he could've imagined what he would found there, who he would found there, the Elvenking would wait a millenia in front of that river so he could see her sooner. Or: how Gandalf managed to keep a secret for 14 months.

third chapter synopsis: After being bitten by a warg, after almost dying, something changed. Something evolved. Things can't stay the same forever. You just didn't imagine they would change so fast. Or that Thranduil was as bad with goodbyes as you. [3K]

warnings: female!reader. lotr kinda of violence. pre-Smaug. a lot of blood.

glossary: Lossëistar: Ice Mage┆Mithrandir: Grey Pilgrim┆Fovren: Fool┆Maenwë: Clever girl┆Pedig edhellen: Do you speak elvish?┆Dôl gîn lost: Your head is empty┆Qenta Eldalien: History of the Elves┆Novaer: Farewell┆Mellon: Friend

Blood seeped into the wooden flooring. It ran down the table legs, dripped from its corners, and gave a new color to the brown floor. The healer’s hands, crushing seeds and heating saps for the ointment, stained everything with a scarlet mark.

In the corner of the room, frozen in time, Thranduil found himself impotent. There was nothing he could do. Nothing but watch. And so he did.

He saw when the healer ripped the arm of your blood-soaked dress. The Elvenking saw your shoulder ligaments. The chewed meat of your arms. The damaged veins. The unconscious tremors. Thranduil saw your lifeless face, your colorless lips, your paralyzed body.

He took you to a healer, but how difficult it is to differentiate it from a slaughterhouse.

Luthien took the warm fabric off your shoulder. She left them aside, holding the bowl with ointment, and poured it onto the bite.

A convulsion gripped your body. The tremors would have knock you off the table if Luthien had not caught you. A pained moan scratched your throat, but your mouth was still closed. Your eyes moved under closed lids. Your fingers writhing in agony did nothing but bruise the skin of your own palm.

“What are you doing to her?” The Elvenking demanded. He seemed to double in size.

She took the needle, dipped it in what was left of the ointment, and sewed it to your skin. With each movement the more you squirmed. “I am saving her, fovren.”

If the Elvenking sought her out, then he must be smart enough not to take offense. Luthien held you in place, sewed you up, cleaned you. When she was done, Luthien wrapped your shoulder in clean bandages.

“When will she wake up?” Thranduil stepped closer. His fingers ghosted over your closed fist, but he could not dare to touch you. He looked at Luthien.

The lack of an answer shivered him.

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Two days are nothing in the life of an elve. Still, such a short amount of time seemed endless for Thranduil. Hours stretched, the next one never approaching. Thranduil remained patient.

Lady Aerin, however, could not afford to be patient. Not anymore. 

She always knew you would wake up. Aerin never doubted that. She knows you are stronger than you look. Not only that: Aerin knows how stubborn you can be. You will die on your own terms. She is certain of that.

What she cannot do is ignore that the Elvenking is still there. Is to lie to herself that in the next hour he will finally get bored and travel back home. Is to pretend not to understand that Thranduil cares.

So Aerin wrote for Gandalf.

She wrote about the Elvenking stay at the inn. About that blasted dam. About that look on his face, how his eyes followed you since the moment he first saw you. Aerin wrote about the attack. About your condition. Your unconsciousness. And when she finally had courage to do so, Aerin wrote about the warg.

Aerin knew where to address the letter. In her office, preparing the bird to carry her message, if only she knew what was happening on the other side of the inn Aerin would have added a few lines to the letter. But she was not there, and the letter flying towards Gandalf missed substantial information: you had finally awakened.

Scared, aching, somehow still tired: but awake. Your eyes took a while to work, to show you the ceiling of your room. You remembered running down an embankment, wheat leaves tickling your arms, a howl. The warg. You understood why you felt a pressure on your shoulder. And why you smelled like blood.

And despite all those hurtful memories, all the pain you were feeling, a smile still made a way into your face. You survived a warg. How many people can say that? You survived. Somehow you always do that. 

The peace of your realization ended when your bedroom door opened.

“Master Elrond will surely be grateful, your grace. He already is,” Gildor whispered. “But this is not your realm. You do not have any obligation with us. Why take the risk?”

Silence took place after his words. When you thought maybe you were alone again, a velvet voice made a way into your ears. “I am becoming kind.”

“Annihilating that nest was kind enough, your grace,” said Gildor.

“It was not,” Thranduil’s tone went lower. His voice was still sharp, a mere choice away from a disguised offense, but it sounded like he was talking to himself more than anything else. “It was about pride. This is about being noble.”

Before you could understand what that conversation was about, Gildor’s surprised gasp shut Thranduil.

“Maenwë,” Thranduil whispered. It felt just like velvet.

“Still do not know that one”, your own voice surprised you. It was tiring, rough, hoarse. So different from your usual playful, light tone.

“Clever.” Thranduil walked across the room, never taking his eyes off yours. Gildor was no more there. The discussion no longer existed. The world could have burned to ashes and the ashes scattered by the wind and he would not have noticed. “It means clever.”

You laughed. Or you tried, since the pain it caused made you cough. What just hurt you more. “Of course it means,” you murmured. “I still have an arm, right?”

“You... You do, maenwë. You do not feel it?” Thranduil somehow remembered that Gildor was there. “Find Luthien.”

You looked at your shoulder again, forcing your other arm to pull the blanket off your torso. Nothing was missing. “Just to be sure,” you responded. You leaned on the bed, trying to sit up.

Thranduil understood your intentions. He touched your arm, cold fingers raising goosebumps on your skin. “Stay,” Thranduil whispered. You had no energy to disagree. “How does it feel?”

“I have been through worse,” you smirked. As your words faded away, the truth escaped. “I thought I was dying.”

“You slept for two days.” You imagined it was his way to say: ‘So did I ’. 

Thranduil’s hands found something on your bedside table. You heard water splashing. His hands returned to your field of vision with a glass of water. “I cannot hold it.”

Thranduil set the glass on the bedside table and moved closer. You could feel his heat. The ghost of his touch still linger on your arm. “Can I?”

Without really understanding what he meant, you nodded.

Thranduil lowered the blanket to your waist. You felt his hand slide across the mattress and fit behind your back. His palm heated your sore skin. You lifted your head when he tried to place his other hand beneath it. Calmly, very carefully, Thranduil helped you to sit down.

“Your skin is so warm,” the Elvenking murmured. He touched your forehead, his contact lasted for a few seconds. “But not feverish.”

You sighed. Everything aches. Every single part of your body. But when Thranduil touched you… It felt a little bit better. Just a little bit.

Then he grabbed the glass and brought it close to your face. You could feel your body heating. Be helped to drink a glass of water. There was something so sweet about it. To help someone conclude such a simple, mundane task. And to do it simply because you are close enough to.

The world is a horrible place. So ill-formulated, uneven, indifferent. It is a place filled with horrible creatures, corrupted humans, malevolent diseases. It is a place where an inevitable darkness hides in the light, where evil deceives the good, where innocent lives perish simply because the world moves on.

But the world is also the only place where you can smell the rain. Where you can eat sweet strawberries. Where you can feel leaves tickling your skin. Where you can dance. Where you can quench the thirst of those who need help.

You leaned in, extinguishing the distance, silently allowing him to help you. Allowing a king to serve you.

“Thank you, your grace” you whispered.

“You should not thank me,” Thranduil’s words made you blink. “I hope one day you can forgive me, maenwë. You gave me your trust, and I was not able to defend you.”

You chuckle. It burned your throat, but you were getting used to the pain. “I am pretty sure you killed a warg.”

“Not before it could bite you.”

Thranduil blamed himself. He blames himself for not being able to protect you, someone he knew for a few days. Not even a week has passed since you both first met. ‘You slept for two days.’ Did he really thought you would die?

A king is apologizing to you. Thranduil killed a warg, found someone to heal you, but for him it was still not enough. You wonder if  you would feel the same in his place.

 “Teach me elvish,” you said.

“What?”

“Teach me elvish and I shall forgive you.” With a lot of effort, you were able to move your good arm and reach out to him. You heard steps from the hallway, people were coming to see you. “And a new dress. I have a personal preference for violet.”

Thranduil stared at your hand. He heard no anger in your voice. Not an ounce of regret or hate.

He held your hand. “Deal.”

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Your routine for the next few days was simple. Someone brings you food when it is time to, Aerin helps you with your bath, Luthien examines you every morning.

You knew Luthien before, but never really stopped to talk to her. Now, without further choice, you discovered that she is a great healer and the best at gossip.

And for the rest of the day you do nothing on your bed. You cannot read, as your head throbs still. And since walking requires a gigantic effort, looking out for someone to talk to is not a option.

Except for the nights.

“Pedig,” repeated Thranduil. This time he slowed down. “Edhellen .”

Sitting in an armchair in front of your bed, Thranduil had two books in his hand. Reading from one of them, his velvet voice never was so treacherous. It is harder to understand his accent than from the elves of Rivendell.

You took a deep breath. “Pedi edellen.”

“One more time,” the Elvenking encouraged you. “Pedig edhellen.”

Your face was already burning. It was so embarrassing to barely learn a language in front of someone. A few people have tried to teach you elvish, but you never stood still for long enough. “Pedig… edhellen.”

“I knew you had it in you,” Thranduil’s words were sweet, but you saw his smile turn into a smirk. Thranduil was amused by your difficulty.

“Do not mock me. What does it mean?”

“‘Do you speak Elvish?’” Thranduil could not contain his playful smile.

Those teaching sessions were already routine. Thranduil comes after dinner, and stays until one of you wants to sleep. He usually is the one to say goodbye. There is a sense of freedom that comes at night that no one wants to let go. So, even when you are tired, you try not to show it. Just so it can last a little longer.

“Very funny,” you rolled your eyes. “Teach me how to swear.” 

Thranduil closed the book, the dry thud embarrassed you. “Maenwë,” there it was. The strong accent. It fades when he speaks in common, but it shines again whenever he gets back into his native language. “What will people think?”

You straightened the pillows behind you and clasped your hands in your lap. “Indulge me.”

“As you wish,” Thranduil sighed, but you knew he was entertained. “Dôl gîn lost.”

“Dôl gîn lost”, you repeated.

Thranduil stands up and moves towards your bed. “At the first try,” that made you smirk. “What does that say about you, maenwë?”

You pouted. “That I have a natural talent for linguistics?”

Thranduil held one of the books out to you. “There is a chance.”

It was heavy, old, you could smell the aged pages. Leafing through it, you saw elvish in golden handwriting. But you also saw your own language on it. On every couple of pages there was different engraving, all so beautiful. You sniffed it.

 “Try reading this once a day,” he told you. “It is a collection of myths.”

You slid your finger across one of the drawings that caught your eye. Even on dry pages the blond hair is still so alive. “Qenta Eldalien.”

That surprised Thranduil. History of the elves. A natural talent perhaps.

“You forgot to tell me,” you shouted when you noticed that he was leaving. Thranduil held the doorknob and turned to you. “What does that mean? Dôl gîn lost?”

“Your head is empty,” Thranduil smirked. You sighed. “Sleep well, maenwë.”

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Warm water trickled down your body. Aerin dipped the sponge in the water before running it over your skin. She ran that soft sponge over your back.

Things were not normal. The bite scar on your shoulder would never go away. The pain when stretching your arm would last forever. The time spent in bed would never be recovered. You are not back to normal, but it is a good thing.

Fear that nothing will survive. Fear that something will. Change is terror, change is craving. Part of you wish nothing bad had ever happened to you. The other smiles when waking up every morning. You survived. Nothing will change that.

Watching the golden leaves falling through the cracked window, you had a new experience. Without realizing, you open your mouth and a melody comes out.

Back in your room, wrapped in a warm towel, you noticed something new. A fabric stretched over it. Violet. So thin it felt like holding flour. So soft. You almost felt bad for touching it, for being unable to keep it pure as it is now.

When you asked for a dress, you thought Thranduil would get you something like the one damaged by the warg. Neutral, of resistant fabric, for those who need to walk and to work. The kind of dress that the wearer does not care if it gets dirty.

This is not a dress for someone that works with horses. For someone that gets muddy. For someone that runs, that likes the feeling of almost falling, that often passes through trees and animals. This is not a dress made for someone like you.

You wore it without thinking twice.

“You were singing”, Aerin sat on your bed.

You admired yourself in the mirror. “Was I?” You caressed the fabric. So soft.

“I never heard you singing before.” Aerin stared at all the fine fabrics together over your body. “And I know you for almost a year.”

“Fourteen months,” you corrected her. You never did something like that before.

“Oh.”

You said nothing while getting dressed. You have never done anything like this before. To correct her. Never. When you turned towards Aerin, choosing between pretending that nothing happened or apologizing, you realized she had left you alone.

You were unsure of what to do. You went through the inn, walking without purpose. Feeling suddenly alone, you walked out of the inn to see the horses again.

You just did not imagined that everyone wanted to do the same. All the elves who came from Mirkwood were out there with their mounts. Within seconds, your surprise turned into realization. They wore their armor. This was no coincidence. They were leaving.

You ran to the stable, trying not to be trampled by horses, searching for him. There you saw the gigantic elk. And you saw Thranduil mounting it.

“You are leaving?” Your breath was a mess. “You did not even said goodbye.”

Thranduil hoped you were still sleeping. Or that you were busy not to noticed the noisy from outside the inn. How he hoped he would never see you again.

He did not wished for a last memory. For a goodbye. Thranduil feared the sour taste in his mouth. He wanted to go remembering you swearing in a language you do not really understand. Thranduil wanted to spend his days imagining if you liked the dress, not to see you in it. To see your braided hair.

Now how will he forget this?

Thranduil cannot stay. Thranduil should have went back to Greenwood a week ago. Thranduil has responsibilities, lifes to care about, a realm to rule. He should not be here. Thranduil may not know a lot, but he knows when it is time to go. “It is good to see you well, maenwë.” 

You blinked. That is all he had to say? You tucked your hair behind your ear. “You did not say goodbye,” you repeat yourself.

“I thought you were sleeping,” he lied. Guiding his elk, Thranduil passed through you. He looked away first. “Goodbye, maenwë. Farewell.”

That is all he had to say. Goodbye. Farewell. You watched him, so aware of how you must look. A pretty braid, a fancy dress, a cruel deception. That is how a fool is supposed to look? And all he had to say was goodbye.

You walked. Ran. Outside the stable, you saw him organizing the small army. You walked up to him, not caring if he was speaking. If he wants to pretend that is enough, if for him it is enough, then Thranduil can live with that. But it is not enough for you. 

If he is going to leave, if you will never see each other again, let it be done correctly. “Novaer,” you licked your lips. Farewell. You hesitated, searching for the right word. “Mellon.” Friend.

Embarrassed, you turned back to the inn. You walked towards it, aware he would see if you runned. By the time you locked yourself in your room tears streamed down your face. Hidden behind the curtains, you watched him go.

Thranduil did not looked back. Or else he would not be able to go forward. That night, you slept hugging your new book. That night, Thranduil slept thinking about how you could not say mellon correctly even if your life depended on it.

[Forth Chapter]

GENERAL TAGLIST: @suakemi @notanalienindisguiseblink

AUTUMN THUNDERSTORM: @ferns-fics @notanalienindisguiseblink @rayrlupin @elvyshiarieko @graniairish

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

[talonabraxas]

"Annon edhellen, edro hi ammen." (Gate of the Elves, open now for me) The Doors of Durin "La Porta Celeste" Talon Abraxas

[edennill]

@nerdy-catfish, sorry for treating you as the resident elvish linguistics expert, but what would I get if I wanted to phonologically reverse engineer a Quenya name from Edrahil (meaning obscure, so translation is not an option)?

(Also Enedir tbh, because the character was once called Enedrion and I've decided to repurpose it as a patronymic — ner = dir, presumably, but the rest is equally obscure, at least according to Parf Edhellen)

[eight-pointed-star]

it's not even language advice this time, just... please check the proper names with a dictionary sometimes...

if you are confused about which dictionary to use, there's eldamo my beloved which 1. has lots of information including on neologisms (fan-invented words) and 2. gives sources for every claim it makes. a lot of people also use the parf edhellen dictionary but it just pulls information from several dictionaries including eldamo which can be quite confusing + eldamo has slightly more search options. but any dictionary will tell you that it's, in fact, fëanáro, not feanoro. what even

[squirrelwrangler]

Do you have any tips for naming Elf OCs?

I've had a lot of practice over the years with a large cast of OCs, but am neither expert or best at this. But here's my guidelines and methods:

First, look at the canon names and notice a few trends. Sindarin (and Sindarized) names are short. One to three syllables. Quenya is longer but rarely goes over five and stays usually around four. But two-three is the sweet spot. And use one-two elements or concepts. Don't fall into the trap of making a long name with a detailed meaning and notice that a surprising number of Tolkien's names don't have a deeply meaningful and poetic name. 'Fin' means hair but it's hazy if that's what the Fin in Finwë means and that's a solid chunk of important canon character names right there. Names can follow a family theme and while we're told Elves don't repeat names like the Edain did, we're also told that Argon became a popular name after his death and there is the case of Fëanor giving his son the exact same name. He also named his sons One through Seven, but that was a dickish political statement and not a convenient Elven cultural naming scheme.

Next, there are Tolkien elf name sites and lists out there, or least back in the early 2000s they were easy to find and I copied them onto a much-used document (particularly for gaming purposes), with the caveat that they are flawed.

What I tend to do now is go directly to the dictionary, pick a term, then modify it usually by adding the appropriate gendered name suffix. Parf Edhellen (man I remember when this was the brand new site) became my go-to for comprehensive convenience.

How to pick a term? The majority of my OCs are based on another character or have an inspiration concept. Also, and here's the top secret method - borrow names that other people have made. And ask others for suggests and help.

For instance, the Tol Sirion Ten. The Leithian Script's usage of the other ten that died in Tol-in-Gaurhoth as supporting characters was my main inspiration, but they only ever named one OC, taken from canon itself - Edrahil. For the rest, I pulled the inspiration from a variety of places. "Heledir" is kingfisher, which already has the 'thir/dir/dor' masculine endings. "Ethir" is spy/watcher. I could leave as is, and for a while I did, but then I added Ethirdor to make it look more canon. Arodreth was a pre-created Sindarin name without a canon character and I think originally got it off one of those name sites - but it means Noble Endurance so it was a good generic name for any of the ten. Now in the Leithian Script it only really made characters out of Edrahil. the Captain (my Heledir), and Youngest Ranger (my Ethirdor). So as documented in my tag when I brainstormed these OCs, I went to other fictional character deaths for inspiration. Well, except for Tacholdir. That character was inspired by two things: I needed one of the imprisoned elf stories to be about a plot to escape, so picking the locks of the chains. And I'm seriously annoyed when fantasy, be it published or fanfic, focuses the cast solely on the hyper-wealthy and highest class. Elves in the Silm are guilty of having almost no named commoners except Eärendil's sailors and some scouts. So I wanted a lower-class elf represented. "Worst Jobs in History" pulled through. Now Tancil/Tancal (Q) and Tachol (S) was in my favorite category of Elven Dictionary finds- both Sindar and Quenya with slightly modified spellings. The entry said 'pin as in brooch'. But good enough. Tacholdir/Tancildo. Back to Arodreth. If there's the Youngest Ranger, there has to be a contrasting Oldest OC. The final book from The Wheel of Time was fresh on my mind and I was still upset over Gareth Bryne's death. Arodreth had a similar sound to Gareth. Floating name now has a home. And if I did Gareth, I might was well use Gawyn (and then from there pull in the rest of the Trakand family and make Elf OC versions of Galad, Elayne, etc..) Now all of those names are heavily based on Arthurian myth names. Gawyn is Gawain and lo the Welsh roots make it Sindarin-ish already. Hawk, battle, talon...all terms I was looking at in the dictionary and name lists. But, also important for story purposes, I wanted a name that wasn't a visual copy to the rest. So the Gadwar instead tacking on another ending, and one that reminded me of Ohtar, a canon minor character - Solider that survived Isildir's death. Two syllables like Gawyn and very close without being a direct copy (Aerith to Aereth is an almost direct copy with the added bonus that Aer mean holy and -eth is feminine name ending). Now Galad is already Sindarin, but the inspiration character is Galahad, so I wanted to shift the focus there instead of making an OC sound like Celeborn's family. Galad in the books was famous for being the world's most beautiful man. But at that point I'd already used Ban/Van. So I mused on the general concept- a guy that women would fight to be with, the ultimate catch. The perfect husband. Which - venno. Haven't used that as a male name ending yet. And that's another element to making OC names - have a good variety within reason as a help for readers. Alma as a hazy Quenya word for good fortune or beauty and maybe flower. Almavenno, a four-syllable Quenya name from two parts for the Amanyar Noldor half-brother that when translated over and squished down becomes Galuven. We're back to the matching G names, it sounds roughly like Gallivant. Perfect.

[lesbiansforboromir]

What are your ocs's names meaning? Did you use Parf Edhellen?

You would think the mention of the tolkien linguistic website would narrow down which ocs anon is talking about but there are still so many of them from just lotro.

If you meant Sataro and Vekna then they're from my DM's own homebrew world... however admittedly they are kind of the 'au' version of some 😂 tolkien ocs. Satarŏ is actually an amalgamation from the partially conlanged primitive elvish, as in the pre-quenya language of the elves at Cuivienen, that vaguely means steadfast/trustworthy/loyal, and morphed into Sarte (quenya) later. In the character's original tolkien canon it was more of an epessë that she became known as in her early life, but Sarte was the name she carried forward into Valinor and the first age. I did not use parf edhellen, although it's a good site, I use Eldamo mostly since it's just a blank searchable database for all the efforts of the tolkien conlanging community and is the one most readily updated.

If you meant to ask for the meanings to ALL my OC's names, as in all of Sarte's (known as Hravanis by most by the third age) names AND all the names of my other tolkien oc's, let me know but that'll be a very long answer lmao

[imjustexistingtbh]

does anyone know if there's an elvish word for planet? i tried searching it up on parf edhellen but it didn't come up with anything.

if not, may i suggest "gilran" from gil (S) meaning star and ran (S) meaning wanderer, as planets are like stars that wander through the night sky throughout the year

[camille-lachenille]

A guide to name your Elven characters in Tolkien's universe

I write LOTR and Silm fanfictions, and always struggle to name my Elven characters, but I think I hacked the system!

Note that this works for both Quenya and Sindarin names, and any other Elvish language you might want to name your character in.

Elvish names, whether given by the parents or chosen later in life, are always composed by two elements/words, and have a meaning related to the character's fate/personnality/ family/appearance. Example: Russandol (Maedhros' epessë) means copper-top, refering to his red hair. The melody/sonority of the name is also very important because Elvish languages are melodious and focused on the aesthetic of the sounds. For High Elves, there is also the fact that most of them have at least one Quenya and one Sindarin name, and the Noldor have the tradition to give two names to their children, one chosen by the father and one by the mother. It's a lot of names...

Now, one can use a generator to name an Elf character, but I rarely like the result and end up perusing this very handy website: Welcome! - Parf Edhellen: an elvish dictionary (elfdict.com) to compose my own names.

But, guess what, Elvish names are not the only ones with meanings! All the names in our own world have a meaning/ethymology. And that's where I found a trick to compose credible names for Elves: translate real world names.

I'll give you three examples of various complexity:

First, an easy one with Mary, the most common feminine name in the world, which means "beloved"

in Quenya melda = beloved, dear as it is too short for an Elvish name, you can add a feminine suffix like -iel = daughter, girl or -wen = maiden these suffix also make sense with the whole Virgin Mary thing...

Anyways, Mary would become Meldaiel or Meldawen, wich is a very nice and generic name for a background character or a lower-class Elf.

In Sindarin we have mell = beloved -iel = daughter, girl -wen = maiden

Which becomes Melliel or Mellwen. It's not very different from the Quenya form but it's still distinct.

Second, you cand chose the name of an historical figure that resemble your Elven character and translate it. Let's go with Alexander, like Alexander the Great. This name means "protector of men" or "defending men", from the ancient Greek aléxein = to ward off, to defend and andrós = man.

Let's look how to transpose these words in Quenya alatya- = to ward off, to protect sanda = shield nér = man

And this give us Alatyanér (ward off-man), or the more imaged variant Sandanér (shield-man). Actually, these names soud rather close to the original... Anyways, here you have a name for a soldier or an Elvish Capitain, with a nice nod to an historical figure.

And the Sindarin version would be beria = protect thand = shield dîr = man

And it would give Beriadir, or Thandir. Again, good names for soldiers, and there are many characters in LOTR and the Silm with names ending in -dir.

Finally, an example of a complex name with my middle name, because that's the first I tried to translate in Elvish. Camille is an unisex name that comes from Latin and means "young cult officiant" or "noble child who helps a priest", more accurately it describes a young boy from a noble family who would hold a role during the public sacrifces in the Roman Empire, which is quite a mouthful you'll agree. But let's identify the key elements of this meaning and compose an Elvish name with a similar meaning that respects the naiming rules of Tolkien's Elves: there are the ideas of religious role/place, of youth and of nobility.

in Quenya that gives us hína = child yána = holy place, sanctuary or corda = temple (closest words to cult or altar I could find) ara- = prefix meaning noble

So, depending on which meaning of the name I want to emphasis, I could translate Camille as Arahína (noble-child), Yánahína (sancruary-child) or Cordahína (temple-child)

In Sindarin the process is the same, wich gives us hên = child iaun = sanctuary ar- = noble

So the result would be either Arhên or Iaunhên, depending on the meaning you prefer.

And here is my little guide to construct your own Elvish names for a fanfiction. I hope that it'll be useful or at least interesting.

[caenith]

'I once knew every spell in all the tongues of Elves or Men or Orcs, that was ever used for such a purpose. I can still remember ten score of them without searching in my mind. But only a few trials, I think, will be needed; and I shall not have to call on Gimli for words of the secret dwarf-tongue that they teach to none. The opening words were Elvish, like the writing on the arch: that seems certain.' He stepped up to the rock again, and lightly touched with his staff the silver star in the middle beneath the sign of the anvil.

Annon edhellen, edro hi ammen! Fennas nogothrim, lasto beth lammen! he said in a commanding voice. The silver lines faded, but the blank grey stone did not stir.

Legolas must have had the time of his life, trying to keep a straight face when he heard these mysterious elvish spells.

[madwomansapologist]

Autumn Thunderstorm | Chapter 4 - Letters, letters, letters

Navigation | Series Masterlist | AO3

series synopsis: Thranduil thought the recent attack of spiders on a periphery village was the only thing deserving of his attencion. If he could've imagined what he would found there, who he would found there, the Elvenking would wait a millenia in front of that river so he could see her sooner. Or: how Gandalf managed to keep a secret for 14 months.

forth chapter synopsis: Letters are vessels capable of conveying so much. From the concern with survival, to the regret of having left. Letters speak of the most varied emotions, contain the most intrinsic truths, and are always written with someone in mind. It's a problem when that letter is read by the wrong person. But what can happens when it's read by right one? [3K]

warnings: female!reader. lotr kinda of violence. pre-Smaug. trauma.

glossary: Lossëistar: Ice Mage┆Maenwë: Clever girl┆Dôl gîn lost: Empty head┆Pedig edhellen?: Do you speak Elvish?┆Na lû e-govaned vîn: Until the time of our meeting

It was not his intention. Truly.

Saruman wandered through the halls of Rivendell, the last homely house east of the sea, with a simple purpose in mind: to find Gandalf. Within two weeks, it was about time Saruman travelled back to Isengard. It was time to say goodbye. And to advice a friend.

Gandalf was always found of travelling, but for Saruman’s sake he must stay there.

Saruman knows about the power he wields over others. His reputation works as a shield from doubts and apprehensions. Saruman the White. If he says the sky is green people will explore all options before cogitating he might be lying. 

His reputation precedes him, and that is why Saruman knows that Gandalf will hear him. Because that is what Gandalf always does.

At Gandalf’s chamber, Saruman waited. And waited.

Radagast is the protector of Nature, but Saruman can recognize the singing of doves just as well. And when he found the pearly feathered bird pecking at the closed window, it took Saruman a glance to see the letter attached to it.

No one could accuse that little dove of not doing her best. Even Saruman could sense its tiredness. While untying the paper from its back, Saruman caressed their delicate wings. It was not sealed. How could he not read a letter that was not even sealed?

Reading the too familiar calligraphy, those words answered his prayers. A warg bit you. Saruman ignored completely what Aerin wrote about the Elvenking or the dam stumbling. A warg bit you. And you were unconscious. Unresponsive. 

A placid smile took over Saruman’s frigid face.

A miracle. You finally will die. And as soon as it happens, as soon as Gandalf discovers that it happened, their problems will end. No more lies for them to worry about. Radagast will stop searching for new ways to cure you. Their past mistakes will not matter anymore. Everything will be normal again.

And Saruman will have great news to report to Sauron.

He knew better than to count with a possible victory. You will die, but if Gandalf discovers what happened he may find a way to save you. Sentimentalist as always, Radagast would come back to meddle in the problems. And that simply cannot be.

It was not his intention to intercept the letter, but it was to burn it to ashes. Did Saruman’s intentions ever mattered before?

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

In haste to avail the end the sunset, you closed the stable doors and locked them with chains. They were heavy, but not that much. You entered the inn through the back doors and went up to your room, grabbed the basked by your bed and hurried to your hideout.

Without giving anyone the time to question what you are doing, you made your way to the forest. Perhaps it is insensitive of you, but you do not want to be disturbed.

You followed a familiar path to the clearing, a part of the forest where the trees thin. It was like the vegetation was mowed down by a divine force. As if someone from above decided to gift you the perfect hiding place.

It was the perfect place to read, alone with old myths and new words. The perfect place to forget about your misery and enjoy something for a while.

But when you sat amongs the roots of an orange tree and grabbed your book, your heart collapsed. The cover tore. Not much, only on the edge, but that made you realize it will last forever. One day it will tore, tarnish, dampen. One day the ink will fade, the words will blurry, the drawings will become thin.

And you will be left alone. Again.

“Dôl gîn lost,” you murmured to yourself. Empty head. “Why cannot you just learn?”

You should have know better. You should have know he would not stay. Thranduil is a king. He lived more than you could ever understand, saw places in this world that you cannot even imagine, know people way more interesting then a girl without memories.

Of course he would go home. Would forget to say goobye. Would not care enough to say goobye.

Why cannot you just hate him? It would be so much easier if you did. If you just despised him. At least you would be able to feel something completely. But what can you do with those complicated feelings? With all the happiness you felt with him, with that rage from being alone again, with that grief? Because it is grief. What hurts more is not that he left, you understand that. You really do. What hurts more is that he will never come back.

You finally had a friend. Not someone you had any sort of debt to pay, that saw you when you could not understand the most basic of things. One that simply appeared on a random night, and that now is gone. What should you do with those feelings? Where do you put them?

“Lossëistar?” It startled you, but you recognized the voice. “So I am not the only one that knows this place.”

He wore his golden armor, his limp wrist resting against the hilt of his sword. People say he is a good warrior, you never saw him fighting. The only thing you saw was his wit. You admire people that know what to say.

“Gildor,” you waved to him. Your smile was wider than usual, to disguise your watercolor eyes. “I thought you went back.”

“Not yet,” said Gildor. “I thought you would never walk into a forest again. Not after everything that happened.”

“If you get hurt on your house, would you never comeback to it?” You arched your eyebrows. “It was not a forest that bit me, it was a warg.”

Gildor approached, walking towards you. With a warm smile, he nodded in agreement. “You are right. It is still a brave choice, if you permit me.” 

You never noticed it before, but there is something yellow about him. Something warm. It is nice to have him around. Someone that for a second can make you forget about the all those contradictory feelings.

“I do,” your tone was arrogant, but not your face. Gildor laughed. “And may I ask why you are here? If you permit me.”

Gildor opened his mouth to answer you, but his eyes fell to the book between your hands. “Do you speak elvish?”

“Pedig edhellen?” you murmured to yourself. Do you speak elvish? The words just echoed in your mind. “I am learning.”

“Alone?”

“Now, yes. Alone,” you licked your lips. “The Elvenking taught me a little bit.”

Gildor became stiff, almost vigilant. “He is so noble,” he told you. “It may seen naive, but I always thought that those great masters hated each other.”

“Do you mean Elrond hates Thranduil?”

“Mirkwood is know as a dark, tenebrous place. And Rivendell is… Look around. It is a paradise. I was naive to imagine that they would envy and hate one another. The Elvenking would not protect this realm if they did.”

You blinked. “What are you talking about?”

“Rivendell is under attack. Spider nests, orcs regrouping, even wargs,” Gildor looked away from you. “Before you woke up, Thranduil promised Varla he would annihilate every single one of those insects. That is why he left suddenly.”

If Gildor screamed at you, if he worshiped a forgotten god, if he talked with a bewitched shadow: you would not notice it.

Thranduil promised that? He put himself in danger, his army in danger, to help people that are not under his rule. He did something so brave, so dangerous, and why? Why did he promised that?

Oh.

It was before you had woke up. For you, it felt like a heavy sleep. Luthien said no one knew if you would wake up. No one knew if you would survive. Aerin said she knew, but she hugged you tightly.

That was the reason? Did he promised that almost as a deal with Varla? Did Thranduil feared that you would not wake up and decided that perhaps something great as defending a kingdom, something kind as protecting people that he did not need to, would make the gods look out for you? Did he cared that much?

Sinking deeper and deeper into your mind, rocked by your thoughts as if they were music, you were unaware to how could you felt. Thinking about Thranduil, regretting entered that damned meadow, a thick layer of ice joined your body to the roots. Talking to Gildor, the mist escaping your mouth was ignored completely.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

“If there is no moving on...”

A scarlet glow shone through the murky night. Sparks leaps into the air, a dark cloud spread for miles, and the world shrunk into itself. No seas, skies or mountains. No animals, civilizations. The only thing that mattered in the whole world was that forest. And it was on fire.

Motionless on the grass, Thranduil could only watch it. He was nothing but a witness. Someone useless, frozen in space and time. Frozen in a distant, blurry memory. Trapped in a old nightmare.

It is a recurring one. Every night the same dream. Again, and again, and again. A forest fire, a useless witness, chronic pain climbing up his face. And then Thranduil wakes up. A recurring nightmare, a repetitive torture, that always left him with a itched face and moist eyes.

The clock is ticking just as it always have done, but at night seconds turn into millenniums. Thranduil’s futures fades, his past come back to haunt him. Possibilities decreasing, regrets mounting, time stretching. Surrounded by fire, Thranduil relives once again his worst memory.

Thranduil could not get near the fire. Even if it was possible to extinguish it, he would not. He would never. Because he can feel the warmth. The stench of old wood. And if he walks towards the fire, if he feels it against his skin, then it would mean that it is happening again.

And Thranduil would rather die.

Because when that happened, at the time this memory was his present, a part of him died in order for him to survive. He will not lose more.

The never saw before. The fire suddenly vanished.

Mist enveloped him. For a second Thranduil thought it was raining. When he looked down, he saw snowflakes melting against his skin. Like at the beginning of the season, when the first snow falls.

And when Thranduil looked at the forest again, the scarlet glow was replaced by a denim brightness. Sparks flying turned into falling snow. He could see the sky, the stars, the mountains so far away. You.

Every leaf that brushed against your hand, every stone that got in your way, every tiny breath you take: everything froze. Ice was spread along with your steps. And for the first time in a long time, he heard the end of the sentence that haunted him for eons. You whispered softly: “…then why are you running away?”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Thranduil woke up boiling under the sheets. He clutched his chest in a vain attempt of calming his heart. It was only when his feet touched the cold ground that he remembered everything.

Thranduil remembered he is in the main tent of the camp set up to chase spider nests. He remembered it has been days since he tracked those insects and started to fulfill the promise of annihilating them one by one. Thranduil remembered the fire. And the ice.

The things Thranduil had denied to himself since the day he started this campaign came back to haunt his mind.

The white fabric, thick enough to protect him from the cold, covered the dark sky that surrounded his little army. And protect by it, with his privacy guaranteed, Thranduil ran to his table. And this time he did not convinced himself that it was the wrong choice, he just grabbed the letter-paper.

It has been days since Thranduil first wished to write to you. He already knew what to write. Every morning Thranduil imagined all the things he would say to you. Every hunt Thranduil imagined how you would answer him. Every night Thranduil feared how you would react.

But he never wrote.

He told himself it was a mistake. How could he write to you after that bitter farewell? You must regret ever meeting him. And Thranduil don’t blame you. He would do the same damn thing if a friend traveled without caring to say goodbye.

As it turns out, Thranduil is too old to be so easily deceived. Deep down he knew that was not the reason for him to not write for you. You may regret him. That is what he would do. And exactly because of that, Thranduil knows that this is not the reality. You are kinder than he would ever be.

You do not hold any grudge against Aerin. Thranduil heard her not calling you by your name, not letting you rest, telling you to go to the place that almost killed. And you do not hate her. Worse: you do not hate him. Thranduil spend every single hour of your unconscious hating himself. He could not protect you. He could not save you. You trusted him, you took his hand into yours. He killed that warg. Did it changed anything? Did that make his bite disappear, your blood stop spreading in the meadow, the sparkle come back to your eyes? And you thanked him when he gave you water.

So, no. Thranduil did not wrote for you, but not because he he knew you hated him. Not because of your reaction. Your despise. Your indifference. Thranduil did not wrote for you, and because he was afraid.

If he writes, it means that he was wrong. It means that he is the one regretting how things ended. He did not wished for a melancholic last memory and that only made it worse. That made Thranduil look heartless. And he does not want you to think about him like that.

Thranduil never wrote for you. Until now.

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Lady,

I hope your days have been peaceful thus far. How is your recovery going? Luthien is a talented healer, I assure you she only does the best for your health. If something is ever needed, no matter what it is, I certainly can provide it for you. I sincerely wish you an uncomplicated improvement.

I am glad I left. At south of Rivendell, following the tracks of those worms that returned to haunt this land, my army and I do good to many. I cannot help but to wonder how many would have suffered, but did not because of our campaign. To leave was the right decision, a noble way to reciprocate how well my people were treated at Rivendell. Still, my mind comes back to our farewell.

It was selfish of me to not gave you an appropriate farewell. I did not wish for a last memory. For a last moment. I wanted our last memory to be one of our lessons. A last memory filled with joy. An selfish act, was it not?

My farewell — or the lack of it — was not meant to hurt you. I really did not aimed at your heart. But I guess this is not enough. Great intentions mostly are not enough.

I hope you are well. I hope you are recovering without any inconveniences. And I hope you do not regret ever meeting me.

Na lû e-govaned vîn,

Thranduil Oropherion.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

It took you three hours of research to translate it. Soon you understood that your book was not enough. In the middle of the night, you ran to the library and dove between dictionaries.

You could have asked someone to translate it for you, but that letter was yours. Only yours. You felt jealous thinking about someone seeing his handwriting. About someone touching the scented paper. Someone reading his words. That letter was meant for your eyes. Only for them.

Na lû e-govaned vîn. To the time of our meeting.

[Fifth Chapter]

GENERAL TAGLIST: @suakemi @notanalienindisguiseblink

AUTUMN THUNDERSTORM: @ferns-fics @notanalienindisguiseblink @rayrlupin @elvyshiarieko @graniairish

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

[hazelmaines]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Thank you @conundrumoftime @wyrd-syster @myfavouritelunatic for tagging me! I loved reading your answers :)

How many works do you have on AO3? 15

What's your total AO3 words count? 266,208 

What fandoms do you write for? The Rings of Power; I also have some older HP fics on AO3. 

What are your top five fics by kudos? Just What I Needed (WIP, E, Haladriel Bible Camp AU); The Chain (WIP, M, Haladriel Canonverse AU); Whatever It Is (One-Shot, E, Haladriel Modern AU, Mind the Tags/CWs); The Bargain (WIP, E, Saurondriel Canonverse AU); The Law Is Reason (One-Shot, E, Haladriel A/B/O Lawyers AU)

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? Yes, I try to always respond, but then I often don’t succeed at that. I like to say “thank you” when I can and I love getting comments so it feels nice to say thanks. But if I ever fail to reply to comments please know how much I appreciate them and how happy it makes me that anyone else enjoys what I write! It’s so fun to share. 

What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? It doesn’t have its ending yet but probably The Bargain. It’s … a weird story that’s headed to weird places. That symbiote snippet I posted a while back? Yeah, that's where The Bargain gets these idiots.

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Ooh, I’ll pick a completed one and say The Law Is Reason (Free From Passion).  

Do you get hate on fics? I haven’t yet, but I have been appalled at the disgusting harassment members of my fandom have experienced on AO3 and elsewhere. It’s really sad and gross. The amount of abuse my fellow Haladriel/Saurondriel writers have endured is absolutely abhorrent and wrong.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Yeah, I think most of my fics include smut. I have written an Aronwyn/Haladriel foursome, one of if not the first Bronwyndriel-without-the-guys fics on AO3, multiple rounds of Haladriel virginity loss, random gratuitous smut, and Omegaverse smut. 

Do you write crossovers? If so, what's the craziest one you've written? Nope! 

Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not that I know of, but I’ve definitely seen it happen to varying degrees, and it’s another one of those things that makes me shake my fist at the clouds about the internet. 

Have you ever had a fic translated? Yes! Such an honor … although I only wish I could read the translator’s work in their language, which alas, I definitely cannot. But ALSO, I have a fic that's being podficced and I literally cried with joy the first time I listened to the first chapter.

Have you ever co-written a fic before? No, I haven’t! I have done loads of brainstorming and “yes-and”-ing with writing pals though and that’s so fun and creatively rewarding.  

What's your all time favourite ship? It’s fucking Sauron and Galadriel, guys. It just is. I can’t. I wasn’t built to withstand TROP Season 1 without becoming permanently damaged and fully unhinged for this ship of doom. 

What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will? Errrr … yeah, I do, and it annoys me because I want to read the story. It’s a Drarry AU I started probably 12 years ago featuring Amnesia!Harry and Psychiatrist!Draco. 

What are your writing strengths? Feelings. Porn with feelings. Banter.

What are your writing weaknesses? Action. Plot. Really need to figure out how to plot, and then, you know, do it. I prefer to vibe and chill with the characters, which is why I have a bunch of vibes-y one-shots and then some really long WIPs that have some serious question marks left on their outlines.  

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic? When it’s incorporated smoothly, it can be really nice, but I don’t do it much, because I am not fluent in any of the languages my characters speak. Parf Edhellen is my bestie.

First fandom you wrote for? Uhhh it may have been some accidental semi-RPF back in the day in a composition book while I was in junior high. First online-published fandom? Harry Potter, like every other millennial of a certain age.  

Favourite fic you've ever written? Whaaaat no, how do I choose? I love them all in different ways. My favorite non-TROP fic: Drarry Forever. It's so cute. I loved writing it and I love reading it. My favorite TROP canon AU: The Chain. It's very much my exercise in "writing what I think TROP should have done instead" and there are parts that always give me chills. My favorite modern AU: Just What I Needed. It's the most personal story I have going and it's so much fun to write!

This was really fun! I think many of my friends have done it already but whoever wants to play...please do! I love hearing friends talk about their writing! <3

[ao3feed-steve-eddie]

by alittleoff

It seems like Eddie doesn’t want his friendship anymore. Avoids him in the halls and cafeteria, but Steve is nothing if not persistent. He writes a full letter in elvish to slip into Eddie’s locker, but Eddie catches him. Shoves the letter back, unopened, unread, with a harsh whispered, “Don’t you get it Harrington? I don’t want to be your friend. Fuck off.”

Steve and Eddie were best friends who make a promise to learn the elvish alphabet so that they can pass notes without worrying about other people reading them. Things don't work out how they'd planned, but Steve learns Elvish anyway. Just in case.

Words: 2608, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Stranger Things (TV 2016)

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson

Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson

Additional Tags: Steve Harrington Has a Crush on Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington Learns Tolkien Elvish, Steve Harrington Has Read LOTR, A lot of times actually, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Confident Bisexual Steve Harrington, Mentions of Steve Harrington/Others and Steve Harrington/Nancy, Steve Harrington Has Okay Parents, They're absent but they love him, Period-Typical Homophobia, Eddie Munson has internalized homophobia, Period-Typical Slurs, Steve Harrington-centric, Steve becomes the world's leading expert on elvish and doesnt even know it, he can write faster in elvish than he can english at this point, Originally Posted on Tumblr