a week ago i read @imindhowwelayinjune insane 320k words modern silmarillion AU Dancing With My Punchlines fic and these were the result (and there's more to come because i am obsessed and i cannot stop)
imindhowwelayinjune replied to your post: RUSSINGON HCS PLS (I love your writing and I read...
I really liked the bit in dwmp where the spiders came out of the keg and they got in a debate with the god of the destroyed city their house was built on
Thank you! I know some people thought that was a weird creative decision but I feel it’s important to stay true to one’s vision
I loved your dwmp Maedhros and Fingon meet canon Maedhros fic! Are you going to write more dwmp elves and canon elves interaction?
“We’re out of whiskey,” called the thing that he refused to share his name with as Maedhros let himself into the apartment. In happier days he’d have begun his evening by staring dinner or, if it wasn’t his turn to cook, trying to get some marking done before Fingon got home and distracted him. Not glaring at his evil doppelganger, sprawled in a pile of cushions and broken glass on his living room floor.
“That’s what happens when you drink it all.” He considered making a point of not picking up the shards, came to the conclusion that if he didn’t they’d just stay there (disgusting) or Fingon would have to do it (unacceptable), sighed, and went to get a trash bag.
“The laws of hospitality-”
“Only extend so far, especially when you keep trying to maul your host. Don’t try that old timey shit on me, I minored in history. If you’re going to keep staying here, you need to get a job.”
Maedhros was braced for an argument. One in which they both knew who was right and both knew who would win by virtue of superior physical strength and an utter indifference to shame. But his double only shrugged. “Is there much call for a cripple with no deeds to his name? No…‘employment history’?”
“Don’t you worry,” Maedhros snapped. Hearing the other him imitate business jargon was far more disquieting than his poetic descriptions of battlefields but he did his best to hide it. “I’ll find something.”
“So do you have any relevant experience?” said the interviewer. She was a hard-faced woman in her forties or so Maedhros guessed - he wasn’t particularly good at judging the ages of mortals - with an expression that said she’d seen it all and wasn’t much impressed.
That composure was fast crumbling, like the timbers of a Falmari ship put to the torch, under the withering heat of his glare. “I lead my people through five centuries of hopeless war. I suffered tortures unimaginable at the hands of a corrupt, all-powerful entity. I built and supplied the mightiest fortress in Beleriand upon Himring’s icy, desolate slopes. This is as nothing to me.” For good measure, he smiled horribly. The sooner she threw something at him and called for the guards, the sooner he could go back to drinking, seducing Fingon, and torturing himself. Either self - he wasn’t fussy.
Maedhros, drinking horrible mall coffee, stayed tactfully out of sight of the Sunglass Hut but kept an ear out for any screaming.
There wasn’t any and he leapt out of his skin, spilling lukewarm caramel macchiato over his shoes when his double appeared at his elbow, looking slightly more grim than usual.
“Did it go badly?” Maedhros said with a horrible, petty sort of glee. “Don’t worry, there are lots of other places hiring.” If anyone deserved to work retail, it was the creature that had stolen his apartment, his boyfriend and, reportedly, a priceless jewel that contained all light and good in the world.
“No,” said his evil clone in its hoarse, creepy voice.
Maedhros wasn’t going to stand for that. “Fingon won’t stand for that,” he said.
Evil Maedhros smirked - they both knew Fingon was the only weapon in his arsenal, while Evil Maedhros carried a small armoury’s worth of very literal weaponry. “I do not refuse. I meant that our quest is at an end.”
“They hired you?”
“They took me as their liege. I’m their new ‘regional manager’.”
