Okay, so going by kudos my most popular work by far is Whatcha Gonna Call It?, so I figure it was about time to point out what are MY favorite lines from that fic. 

There’s a dry, wry sarcastic tone that I tried to convey and I guess was successful, the authorial voice heavily influenced by Pratchett and Tolkien at points during The Hobbit. So the second line was my hint that we’re sliding into my snark of which I usually write my informal posts but not so often my actual fics.

Everyone had already exhausted all the thorny or offensive or just plain unanswerable questions like why Aegnor married a mortal and was that even possible or ethical or physically possible. 

Next up is this line:

Having his prudent advice ignored, their big brother Finrod down in Nargothrond was now writing letters to all the Wise-women of the three Edain tribes and the philosophers among the Eldar (which consisted mostly of Finrod himself, two advisers of Thingol, and one loremaster living with Fingolfin – the majority of the Noldor either uninterested in esoteric questions of soul, especially strange mortal ones, or had stayed behind in Aman to begin with) to bring together in a colloquy to discuss the impact of the first marriage of immortal to mortal and any possible changes or transfers in the nature of their bodies and souls.

 Plus the later “Finrod’s colloquy by correspondence side-tracked into tangents”  I am proud of for working in the word colloquy twice and because colloquy by correspondence is just a delightful term of phrase. And I get to tangentially ramble on world-building, obliquely insinuate that all the level-headed and intelligent Noldor with foresight and actual wisdom didn’t follow Fëanor’s rebellion, highlight Athrabeth’s stressing of Finrod going about the wise people of the Edain for decades to learn from them and its definitions of soul, body, and the relationships between them and that they are not the same for elves and mortal men. And then the following lines nod to a fun fanfic from years ago that hypothesized (humorously) that Círdan’s beard was because Durin’s missing bride was an elf and Círdan had a twin brother that stayed to become the next king while Círdan left and has been pretending to be a full Eldar this whole time. 

Other fun lines:

Secretly, Angrod wondered if this whole mess should have been a surprise, for Aegnor had assimilated to the Bëorians in Ladros more rapidly than their sister had to Doriath. Every morning Angrod checked his brother for sign of stubble on his cheek or gray hairs, for that was the inevitable next step after learning the mortal tongue, drinking mortal beer and eating that mortal food dish involving stuffing animal organs with more meat, wearing mortal clothing, staying in mortal halls, and falling in love with a mortal woman. 

Bëorian haggis you will pry from my cold dead fingers 

The newness and uncertainty of the situation worried everyone but Cousin Lúthien, who refused to understand the fuss. She existed, did not she?

(Lúthien is a benevolent steamroller of confidence and good heart. Diana from the recent WW movie is actually pretty close to how I’d characterize her, if you replaced her adoration of her aunt Antiope and wanting to be a warrior with idolizing her mother in her role as queen and the Amazonian healers and senators. A little less naivety of the cruelty and moral grayness outside her sheltered kingdom but the same general belief that people are inherently good except for the gods/forces of evil who she will curb-stomp)

Finrod, however, was physically nowhere near Dorthonion and thus unable to intercede between the fight. Wise of him, Angrod thought. 

My Angrod loves but resents his big brother, because my Angrod has his hands full managing his younger brother and kingdom and allies. Lots of snarky ‘no, we’re fine up here, I don’t need your help [mutters under breath] you’re so far away it’s not like you’d get here in time to be useful for our current problem anyway’

Angrod held Edhellos, breathing in the scent of his wife’s hair and shaking with his own fear. He knew if Andreth or the babe did not survive the birth, his brother would blame himself and along with most of Beleriand take it as a sign of Ilúvatar’s proscription against such a union. Aegnor would chose death by grief then.

There has to be a dark, angst, sad moment in a humor fic, a point where the joke becomes real, before it can switch back to seriousness. And here’s the seed of the truly dark AU that stillbirths any more peredhil unions, because this would have undoubtedly be interpreted as Eru banning elven/mortal relationships. This is darker to me than a Morgoth wins scenario, tbh.

Bregor opened the window so the light of the sunrise could illuminate a glowing Aegnor and his newborn daughter

jfc I am unsubtle with my symbolism

He still called her Nómwen, to the disapproval of the girl’s parents.

Got to end on a snarky note