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frodothefair · 2 months ago

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Modern Eothiriel! The Rancher and the Model

The plot bunnies are multiplying, aren't they? Today, I got an idea for a modern AU. I don't know if I'll ever actually write this -- and my personal opinion is that a modern AU may as well be an original fiction nine times out of ten -- but here goes. My favorite thing about modern fiction is that I can easily draw on personal experience.

Lothíriel is a young fashion model who lives and works between Italy, France, and occasionally New York. On the surface, she has a glamorous, fast-paced lifestyle, but originally, she is from a mid-sized city in an Eastern European country, and her family is various levels of problematized, so she helps them financially whenever she can. (For instance, her father, Imrahil, is elderly and disabled -- and also a patriarch who runs the family with an iron fist; her brother Amrothos is an on and off unemployed alcoholic, Erchirion is a put-upon small business owner, and Elphir is a doctor, but institutional medicine in that country is notoriously underpaid, so he spends his time juggling his work at the hospital with private-pay clients, as well as pulling strings to get his brother into treatment).

Éomer and Éowyn are siblings who run a horse farm in the upper Midwest (a region of the United States), raising horses for show and for racing. Their uncle Theoden, who bequeathed them the farm, passed away in a tragic accident some years ago, and Éomer and Éowyn are finally taking a vacation, for the first time since his passing. They rent a property in the South of France, in a picturesque historic beach town called Eze, and they aim to stay and soak up the sun for at least a week or two.

Little do they know that the picturesque location is the site of a modeling shoot, and that's how Éomer meets Lothíriel. (The idiot probably wanders into the modeling shoot by accident, because he's too overawed by the scenery, and his head is all but literally in the clouds).

Their connection is instant, and they continue to meet at local restaurants and cafes, and explore the coast and nearby Nice on her days off. When they part ways, they continue to talk online, and over the coming months and years, they make time to meet between their respective commitments, in a different European city every time, where they spend their days lounging around rented lofts talking and making love, with occasional forays out into the world to attend cultural venues and find sustenance and libations.

But in the end, every long distance relationship is fated to end -- either by calling it quits or becoming short-distance. As a model, Lothiriel's days are numbered: most models do not stay in the industry past their mid-twenties, and modeling is increasingly less of a career, and more of a way to pay for whatever will happen next.

As such, eventually Lothíriel and Éomer do get married, and have a beautiful wedding that transcends time and space, celebrating by turns in her home country, then in one of Lothiriel's erstwhile "home bases" (Paris or Milan), and then on the horse farm. But after the dust settles and reality sets in... what then?

Inevitably, a life on a horse ranch is less glamorous when it's a day to day endeavor rather than a getaway. What is spiritually healing, relaxing, and exotic for a week or two can become spectacularly dull, especially when one's husband is often gone, the business side of running the farm is hopelessly opaque, and the nearest city with an airport and any modicum of "culture" as Lothíriel understands it is a two hour drive away. To make matters worse, the nearby small town, beneath its quaint veneer, has a drug and unemployment problem, and the local women of her social class are seemingly from another planet: they enjoy hearing her stories but see her an outsider, and their predominant interests are gardening, church potlucks, and perhaps bookclubs where they consume more wine than words.

Fairly soon, Lothíriel is at loose ends and even depressed, wondering if she has made a mistake, and if she and her husband have anything in common. After all, it's one thing to live jet setting lifestyle, meeting only from time to time, but quite another to live together when one is used to rising early and the other is a confirmed night owl.

Can Lothíriel find a place for herself in middle America? Can she find a way to be useful and bring her experience to bear? And most importantly, can she be a support and a partner to her husband as opposed to a listless and unhappy weight? Only one way to find out!

What do you think? @emmanuellececchi @konartiste @from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras @celeluwhenfics

#eomer #lothiriel #eothiriel #lotr #lotr au

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dolamrotha · 6 years ago

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In which Eomer plays hockey on a team with Boromir and Theodred (coached by Aragorn), Lothiriel is a figure skater, Faramir is Lothiriel’s trainer, and no one has any chill.

“Oh, c’mon, Eomer. It won’t kill you to have a little fun for once in your life.” Boromir’s grin is wide and his hand is heavy as it falls on Eomer’s shoulder, nearly knocking the heavy bag’s strap from its place. “Come have a drink with us.”

The game had been brutal and brutally close, but the victory of their win was still coursing through his blood, so Eomer shook his head and adjusted the strap of his bag.

“Fine,” he says. “One drink.”

They all pile into Theodred’s giant truck: Boromir and Theodred in the front, Eomer in the back. But it isn’t a restaurant or a bar parking lot they pull into, it’s a smaller skating rink ten minutes from the arena.

“What are we doing here?” Eomer asks, glancing up from his phone as they pull to a stop, mid-way through replying to Eowyn’s latest text.

“Thought I’d bring my little brother and my cousin along,” Boromir says. “They deserve a night off, too.”

Theodred parks and they pile out of the truck, heading into the building. The high school girl at the lobby’s skate-rental desk waves cheerily to Boromir, who waves right back. Moments later they push through a door and into a familiar chill. Long, sweeping lines intersect one another on the surface of the ice, their cause a pair of white skates on a slender young woman who spins in the very middle of the ice. As she spins, her back arcs backward, arms lifting toward the sky as one leg lifts backward. Each graceful spin barely seems to move her from one single spot on the ice, and Eomer - who has never considered figure skating as anything more than glittery costumes - finds himself transfixed.

Boromir’s cousin, Lothiriel Prince, had come to several games. She always ran to greet Boromir afterward, laughing with her arms around his shoulders when he lifted her up and spun her around. She’d even joined them for other celebratory dinners following big wins. But it had been a long time since he’d seen her, and he’d never seen her like this.

Her heart is still pounding as she skates her way toward Faramir, knowing the routine had been as close to perfect as it could be. But before she can open her mouth to speak to him, someone shouts “FARAMIR!” across the ice. It’s Boromir’s voice, she’d recognize it anywhere, but Boromir isn’t the first person she sees when she turns around. Instead, she immediately locks eyes with Eomer, and (oh, Valar!) she can already feel herself blushing. Luckily, between physical exertion and cold, she has an excuse for rosy cheeks, and once she makes it off the ice, she’s lifted into the air, skates and all, by Boromir’s strong arms.

“Olympic gold for sure, little swan,” he says, and she laughs as he sets her down again.

“Try not to jinx it,” she tells him, planting a kiss on his cheek before peering around his shoulder. “Hi, Theodred, Eomer.”

Faramir passes her skate guards, and she sits down on the lowest bench of the bleachers to attach them.

“What brings you here?” He asks, turning to look at Boromir, Theodred, and Eomer. Even as he speaks, uncaps a bottle of water and passes it to Lothiriel. Gratefully, she takes a large sip of it, studiously looking only at her cousins and failing at every test. She can’t seem to stop glancing at Eomer. She had been attracted to him from the very first time they met (how could she not be?), and had felt herself slipping slowly but inexorably into a crush from which she was sure she would never recover.

To judge by the looks Faramir was occasionally throwing in her direction, it wasn’t her most well-hidden secret.

“We won!” Boromir replies. “And the two of you have been here since the crack of dawn.”

“We did take breaks, you know,” Lothiriel says from her bench, capping her half-empty water. “And I had a class at nine.”

“Doesn’t let you get away with much, does she?” Theodred asks, nudging Boromir’s shoulder with his own.

“I blame her brothers,” Boromir replies.

Lothiriel catches Eomer’s eye over Boromir’s shoulder, and dips her head to hide her smile at the amused gleam in his eyes.

“I don’t know, Boromir, we have to be here early tomorrow...” But Faramir makes the mistake of looking down into his cousin’s suddenly wide and pleading eyes. To make her point, she even adds a pout.

Faramir lets out a long-suffering sigh, and soon enough they’re all piling into Theodred’s truck. Boromir and Theodred are in the front again, but this time there are three in the back: Eomer on one side, Faramir on the other, and Lothiriel - the smallest of them all - tucked between them.

Tucked between them and breathless, because even the spacious back seat of Theodred’s car is a squeeze when your seat partners included Eomer and Faramir. It pressed her hip-to-knee-touching close to Eomer, and highly aware of it.

He is too, it seems, though she doesn’t think it can be in a good way. He’d shifted over when she’d first climbed in, and now he was sitting stiff as a board and turned to the window, his hand clenched on his knee. Her stomach seemed to sink, and she felt the need to blink back unbidden tears. All this time, she’d thought he at least liked her, even if he didn’t, well...like her.

It was time to stop being silly, she told herself, and rested her head on Faramir’s shoulder until the car finally came to a stop.

At least, she thought, the others would put it down to fatigue.

Even through two layers of jeans - his and hears - he could feel the warmth of her leg where it pressed against his, and felt the desire to reach out and rest his hand on her knee so strongly that he had to curl his fingers into a fist.

The more he thought about it the more he realized he’d been thinking about her as something other than Boromir’s little cousin for a very long time.

All those times she’d gone to the game and something in him had driven him just a little bit harder than usual. The gratification of watching her cheer for them from the sidelines, even if he knew it was mostly for Boromir. The slow discovery of just how smart and determined and kind and just plain too-good-for-him she was.

She smells like coconut and vanilla and something floral that he can’t name. He’s noticed it before, the few times they’d been close enough, but never so close for so long. Eventually, he turns his face to the window in the hope of distracting himself long enough to talk himself down from having any feelings at all for her. Long enough, he hopes, to convince himself that it’s only a physical reaction, something mental or instinctual, something he can ignore.

It isn’t until Lothiriel leans away from him and tucks her head against Faramir’s shoulder as though to create some distance - any distance - that he realizes he’s not convincing himself of anything.

Lothiriel recovers after her first gin and tonic, laughs happily at Boromir’s attempts to convince Faramir to drop some hint about the “mystery woman” he’s been seeing. Eomer, on the other hand, only seems to stare more and more deeply into his glass of beer.

Lothiriel, as it turns out, isn’t the only one who notices. Theodred takes his next chance to sit down beside his cousin and sling an arm around his shoulders.

“You could just, you know....ask her out.”

Eomer splutters against a mouthful of beer that seems to have suddenly chosen the wrong way to go down. He gives it a moment when the others all turn to look at him, carefully avoiding Lothiriel’s grey eyes until they turn away again.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I am talking,” Theodred says, with utmost patience, “About the fact that you’ve been brooding over Lothiriel all evening. And I’m willing to hazard a guess that you’ve been brooding over her for a long while and never realized it.”

Eomer downed the last gulps of beer rather than answer. Theodred only grins, pats Eomer’s shoulder, and sits down next to Boromir. Whatever he whispers into Boromir’s ear causes the other man to look directly at Eomer....and grin. It was disconcerting, to say the least, but the most disconcerting part of all was Boromir leaving the table entirely. There’s a small band setting up across the bar, and Boromir approaches them to great excitement. They call out his name as he approaches, and Eomer sees Boromir ruffle the hair of the one who looks the youngest.

As Boromir walks back to the table with a smug grin slowly spreading across his face, the little band picks up a brisk tune that makes Lothiriel’s eyes light up. When Boromir reaches the table again, he executes a solemn, formal bow in front of his cousin and holds out a hand. In moments, they’re whirling across the empty floor in front of the band, Lothiriel’s light feet following each of Boromir’s sure steps. It’s a fast song, all quick movements and complicated turns, but the two move through each step with fluid grace.

Lothiriel’s eyes are brighter than ever when the song finishes, and she says something to Faramir, laughingly, but Eomer’s attention is caught by the fact that Boromir is steering them both toward him.

“I asked Merry and Pippin to play a Rohirric song next, Eomer. My cousin loves to learn new dances, you should teach her the steps.”

Lothiriel, for her part, looks stricken. But she offers him a shy sort of half-smile when their eyes meet.

With everyone’s eyes turned toward him, Eomer can do nothing but nod.

“I’m not sure I’ll make the best teacher,” he says, but stands anyway. Lothiriel’s smile softens, goes from half-sure to all-sure in moments.

“I don’t mind.”

Ignoring Boromir’s grin, Eomer holds out his hand.

Her hand is so small in comparison to his, enfolded when his fingers close. They walk to the middle of the floor, joined by a small number of other dancers lured by the slower song. When they reach an empty span of floor, they merely pause for a moment: Lothiriel looking up at him, Eomer looking down at her.

“How does it start?” Lothiriel asks, hopes her hand doesn’t start to tremble,

“We, ah - “ Eomer clears his throat, takes an almost apologetic step closer. “Stand. Like this. It’s....close.”

“I don’t mind,” Lothiriel says again, this time so softly that it’s almost a whisper. This time she’s sure she sees a warmth in his eyes breaking through the guarded gaze. He doesn’t say anything, only nods, but his arm wraps around her waist.

“It’s not very fast,” he says, and she can’t have imagined the fact that his voice seems lower than usual, lower and softer. “It’ll be easy, compared to that last one.”

Their eyes meet, and Lothiriel smiles. The only thing she says is “I trust you. Just lead me.”

So he does. Somehow, he does. Even with the distraction of how warm and soft she is, how close they are, the awareness that her cousins and his are watching. The world just seems to shrink, narrows down to the girl in his arms and the music and the old, familiar steps.

For once in his life, he feels the dance ends much too soon, and when Lothiriel doesn’t pull away and the music starts again, they just keep dancing. Soon enough, he dips his head to rest his cheek against her hair, breathing in the soft, sweet scent of her and marvels at the way her breath releases on a sigh, the fact that she somehow shifts still closer.

“What changed?” She whispers, so low that he almost doesn’t catch it. His brow furrows, and he tries to turn his head to look down at her.

“What do you mean?”

“In the car,” she says, drawing away just slightly and looking up at him, biting her lower lip for just a moment. “It was like you didn’t want me near you.”

His smile is slow and warm, and she can feel her heart flutter at it, knows she’s doomed now if she wasn’t already.

“No,” he says, his voice a deep rumble that she can feel, close as they are. “It was because I did.”

She thinks again of the press of their legs, the way his jaw had clenched, his hand in a fist on his knee, and the sudden clarity makes her smile shyly, sweetly. It makes her duck her head again, hiding her face against his chest even as the hand at his shoulder curls (for just one fleeting moment) into the fabric of his shirt.

“So did I,” she says. And she can’t see the smile that those words call up, but the rest of their table can.

"So much for avoiding distractions,” Faramir says, though there is no exasperation in his tone. “How did you know that would work?”

Boromir shrugs, resting an arm on the back of Theodred’s chair.

“They’ve been making calf eyes at each other since they met,” Boromir replies. “But the kids never thought the other one would possibly return the feelings, so they never did a thing about them. I thought it was better to push them straight into it than let them torture themselves. Twenty dollars says they’re inseparable by the end of the week.”

The other two are just too smart to take his bet.

The music comes to an end, the girl on the ice stops her dazzling spin, and comes to a final stop with her arms uplifted. Lothiriel is dazzling beneath the lights, dressed all in blue and white. But it’s her smile, Eomer thinks, bursting with pride even before the scores are read, that’s the truly dazzling thing. The applause crescendos up around him, and he’s sure it’s the loudest applause he’s heard this whole time.

Still, nothing rivals the intensity of his own applause as he watches the gold medal take its place around her neck, as her eyes glisten with tears and the country’s anthem soars around them. Nothing except the thunder of his heartbeat when he holds her in his arms afterward, her laughter in his ears, the weight of the little ring box in his pocket.

#eothiriel #eomer x lothiriel #eothiriel modern au #disclaimer: i know two things about hockey and nothing else #also i love me some lovesetruck idiots #and meddling family/friends

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theemightypen · 6 years ago

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129: “Um… it’s not what you think…” :D

“Are you even trying?”

“Be nice, it’s my first time!”

“Well, that explains a lot–”

“Can you just–no, a little more to the left–”

“Is that better?”

“Mm–”

The sound of someone clearing their throat makes them both jump guiltily.

“I can honestly say, I never thought I’d see…well, this,” Eowyn says.

“Um…it’s not what it looks like?” Lothiriel says, from somewhere around Eomer’s ribcage.

Eomer groans. “What else is she supposed to think, Lothiriel?”

“We,” comes Faramir’s voice, making Eomer groan again, “had no idea either of you were quite so, ah, flexible.”

Lothiriel’s huff of laughter is startlingly warm and nearly makes him topple over. He knees her shoulder in response, and earns a smug grin for his trouble.

“You’re just jealous,” she says, contorting herself in a truly impressive position to smile at Faramir. “We must have played Twister hundreds of times when we were little, Fara, and you never won once.”

“That’s because you and Amrothos cheated constantly, not because of my lack of flexibility,” he says, loping around to inspect the way they’ve managed to bend themselves around each other. “How exactly were you planning on spinning for the next turn?”

Lothiriel lifts her left foot gingerly off of a yellow space, nearly kicking Eomer in the face as she does so.

“Show off,” he grumbles half-heartedly as she stretches a toe towards the spinner.

“Oh, for Bema’s sake, let me,” Eowyn says, snatching the spinner out of Lothiriel’s reach.

She gives the arrow a hearty flick and watches closely as it spins, spins, spins, finally landing on ‘Right Foot Red’.

Eomer groans again, trying to figure out how he can possibly maneuver himself without doing permanent damage to either of his legs.

Lothiriel, on the other hand, stretches out with ease, insinuating herself effortlessly under his much larger frame as she does so.

Eomer is abruptly grateful that she’s so much shorter than him; if she were any taller, her face would be very near to uh…very inopportune place. As it is, she’s still plastered closer to him than he’d like–or, more than he’d like with an audience. Especially when said audience is his sister and her cousin.

Once they’ve both placed a food on the correct dot, Eowyn gives the spinner another flick.

“What are the stakes?” Faramir asks, abruptly.

“What makes you think there are stakes?” Lothiriel asks innocently.

“Because I know you and the sharks you call brothers,” is Faramir’s answer.

“I win,” Eomer answers, stifling a curse when Lothiriel arches her spine, pressing her back flush against his chest, “she has to do trash duty the rest of the time we’re here–”

“And if I win,” Lothiriel interrupts, “Eomer has to be responsible for Boromir, Theodred, and Amrothos when we go out next.”

Faramir whistles lowly. Eomer lifts his head to glare at Eowyn when she gives his shoulder a sympathetic pat.

“Poor choice, brother mine,” she says. “That’s too big a job for any one man, even you.”

“Which is why,” he grumbles, “I’m going to win.”

“Hah!” Crows Faramir. “Famous last words, Eomer.”

He lifts his left hand from its yellow dot to shoot his brother-in-law a decidedly impolite gesture.

“Hey!” Lothiriel says, nudging his arm with her knee. “You can’t take your hands off the mat!”

Eowyn snickers.

“Come on, ‘Wyn,” Faramir says, though there’s obvious laughter dancing in his voice as well, “let’s leave them to it.”

“And close the door after you!” Lothiriel calls. “If we wanted an audience, we would have said so!”

They’re both still until the distinct click of the door being fully closed.

“Eomer?” Lothiriel murmurs.

“Hm?”

“Can you reach the spinner?”

He looks up and curses under his breath; Eowyn has left it–likely on purpose–on the low coffee table that’s at least half a body-length out of his reach. “No.”

“Ugh!” She cries. “How are we supposed to finish the game?”

Eomer contemplates this for a moment. He’s not as flexible as Lothiriel, nor as accustomed to holding his body in such static positions for extended periods of time. There’s a good chance she could beat him, fair and square, without the spinner. Or…

Lothiriel yelps in surprise when he tugs on her ankle, moving her out from under him before he lets himself flop gracelessly onto the mat. He reaches for her arm before she can form a protest, hauling her up to his eye-level.

“Cheater!” She cries, but her eyes are sparkling and her smile is wide. “Of all the low, dirty tricks–”

“You’ll get over it,” he says and then kisses her for all he’s worth.

Her body goes pleasantly pliant, her fingers winding into his hair. She sighs when he slides his hands under her shirt, pressing against the warm, slightly damp skin of her lower back.

“Good thing Eowyn and Faramir didn’t walk in on this,” she murmurs, pulling back just enough to wind a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses down his neck.

Eomer chuckles despite the sudden flare of heat he feels when Lothiriel presses her hips against his. “It’d be worth it.”

“Hope it’s worth taking care of the terrible trio tomorrow night,” she says, voice going slightly breathy as he trails a finger up her spine, “because I won.”

It is, in fact, entirely worth it.

#AND WE'RE BACK BABY #eomer x lothiriel #eothiriel #prompt response #my writing #modern AU #shout out to Niamh for helping me come up with an idea for this one

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funkytoes · 5 years ago

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Which ~FIC~ of mine should I focus on this ~weekend~ ????

And by focus on i mean write a few chapters if i can and mayhaps even post a chapter ??

***NOTE: I’ll be trying to post an update for most if not all of these within the next week it’s more just,,, if you want a particular fic to update like,,, this weekend then let me know which you’d like me to focus on first :)

Consort of the Sun - Berk is lost. Conquered by the barbaric and cruel Yorvani. In an attempt to save his people and their traditions, Prince Hiccup agrees to become consort of War Chief Astrid, Divine Leader of the Yorvani. [httyd | Hiccstrid | au]

The Halfling Child - Twelve years after the events of The Dragon Prince, the world is slowly settling into peace. But not for long... an old enemy rises to the surface, preparing a storm that will upset the balance of the world, and sets his goals on obtaining on a powerful new 'weapon', the unborn child of Callum and Rayla. Will the world be successful in defeating evil again? [tdp | rayllum]

An Anonymous Donor - Astrid Hofferson’s biological clock is ticking. The problem? She's not in a relationship. So she gets an anonymous sperm donor. Problem solved. New problem? Turns out the sperm donor is her obstetrician, Dr. Hiccup Haddock. [httyd | hiccstrid | Modern au]

To Be Loved - Before she was born, it was foretold that Princess Lothiriel would suffer greatly from the love of men. Her mother's dying words were words of power, to keep her daughter safe from suffering, to never trust the love of men. Now the Princess Lothiriel has become the Queen of the Riddermark. And though her heart is filled with love, will she learn to accept the love others have for her? [LOTR | Eothiriel]

👍

#my writing #delete later probs #I have a busy weekend coming up or I'd just work on all four *but* I was sick this week so I wasn't #that productive so I unfortunatley have to work through the weekend :')#anyway that's why i'm curious which fics y'all would be interested in me working on first #just for like my personal brain analytics haha #it might help me decide which fic to work on bc i kinda wanna work on all of them D:

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eothiriel · 7 years ago

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ÉOTHÍRIEL WEEK 2017!

HEY YO OUR PEEPS! It is the end of summer and that means…..it is time for our second annual ÉomerxLothíriel week of PROMPTS AND ARTS AND stUFF AND AWESOMENESS.

The starting date is September 24, 2017. And our eyes are peeled, so post WHATEVER WHENEVER and we will add it to the queue, so as to space out posts for maximum viewing pleasure. But please make sure you tag your work ‘eothiriel’.

Any type of submission is fair game: art, fic, meta, photo and gifsets, playlists, moodboards, etc. Also you don’t have to make anything to participate!! You can simply follow the blog, like the posts, and get to know some new friends.

Please please please tag your friends and reblog this post so as to create as MUCH excitement as possible. We may be small BUT WE WILL BE MIGHTY.

The prompts are optional, but should you be needing inspiration:

Day 1: Song (i.e. your fav Éothíriel song) Day 2: Memories Day 3: Family Day 4: Highs & Lows Day 5: Simplicity Day 6: Winter Day 7: Modern AU

Best of luck to all participating, and we literally cannot wait to see what everyone has to offer. Last year was SIIIIIICK and this year will be better. Heh.

(If you have any questions or whatever or you want help or ideas WE ARE SO THERE. Talk to us.)

#eomer #lothiriel #lord of the rings #eothiriel #éomer #lothíriel #eothirielweek2017

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whiskawaybelf · 27 days ago

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Little bit of the next chapter of Ink and Water, easing into some backstory and some silly childhood chats.

Ao3 link

“So you’re a wine connoisseur out of spite?”

Éomer dried his hands and came back to sit, Éowyn beat him to the couch and sent him to the armchair.

“Out of necessity. Rohirrim would have gone under if we didn’t retain our staff.”

“I didn’t realise you helped too. I thought it was just Théodred manning the fort.”

“It was both of them,” Éowyn sighed, she reached for the joint and came to standing, not happy to talk about her family without a little assistance, “They were gone all the time, never talked about anything else. It was the worst three years of my life.”

Lottie saw Éomer’s face. He was very still and his lips pressed together. He looked like someone bracing himself for a crash.

“Boys and their cars. I can’t believe you sell cars for six figures. You’re basically the bourgeoisie.”

“I’m not the fucking bourgousie,” Wynn snapped, resisting the distraction for only a fraction of a second.

“You are the nouveau riche, coming to topple my aristocracy of old money.”

“It doesn’t help that you’re a duchess. You’re just asking for the guillotine.”

Éomer frowned as he watched them speak a language he didn’t know. Something to ease the transition from dangerous to here. She redirected naturally, she gave Éowyn a path to follow that didn’t lead to those three years. He was incredibly grateful.

Lottie came back to him. Or rather she invited him back in, “My dad always wanted a Rohirrim car, the one with the... leather? Do they all have leather interiors?" brother and sister nodded like she might be an alien, learning the very basics of luxury cars on earth, she huffed, "They are shockingly expensive. Entirely impractical.”

“How much practicality do you need? Your dad makes instruments. That's inherently impractical,” Éomer tried to start and she was protesting before he even finished.

“No. My dad manufactures the best instruments. And music is practical. It’s one of the very first things humans did together.”

“Don’t argue with her. You’re already in danger of getting kicked out,” Éowyn wore a fondly pained expression, this was a conversation they’d had a lot and she couldn’t seem to tell Lottie enough times how boring she found it. Each time Lottie would begin and Éowyn would refuse to listen, she wouldn’t believe her roommate roped another person into talking about her father’s instruments and the essential humanity of music.

“We will continue this later,” Éomer said with his hands up, “When I’m in less danger.”

Wynn sat on their front step and lit up the joint, “I hope you love learning about the history of music. I sure did.”

Lottie ignored them both, she was right and they all knew it. Music was a heartbeat, everyone also knew that, “You know, if we could fit a piano, we would have a piano.”

“A six figure piano?”

“To make up for the zeros I lost on my paycheck. It seems fair,” she took the smoke and tried to make a ring. She didn’t know why she tried, she’d never made one before, but it would have been very cool if this was her first time, “I have us sorted for munchies.”

“A famous croissant?”

“Not practical but delicious.”

Éowyn cheers-ed to that and they began their second pass, the neighbours must be fuming.

“Tell me about Wynn,” she turned to Éomer, “I want to hear all the childhood stories. The embarrassing ones first.”

“There’s nothing embarrassing to say,” he said and Wynn began to laugh at the smoothly bullshit tone he used, “She was pretty perfect. The perfect sister.”

“I can tell you all sorts of embarrassing things, if Éomer can’t think of anything,” Éowyn drank out of her nice wine. Lottie could see Éomer watching her, wishing she wouldn’t ruin the nice wine with weed smoke. Now it was just alcohol juice.

“Actually, I’ve remembered some now. Do you know why she doesn’t drive?”

“Because she’s shit at it.”

“Yes, but no. She took one of the cars out for a joyride when she got her licence-”

“Fuck off, Éomer!”

“-and crashed it. A hundred k, gone. And all she got was a few stitches and whiplash.”

#lothiriel #eomer #eowyn #eomer x lothiriel #eowyn and lothiriel #lothiriel fanfiction #eothiriel fanfiction #eothiriel #eothiriel fanfic #lothiriel fanfic #in which lothiriel and eowyn are called suffocatingly co dependant roughly four times #eowyn of rohan #eowyn fanfic #eowyn fanfiction #lotr fanfic #lotr fanfiction #Modern AU

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whiskawaybelf · 1 month ago

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Little snippet of the modern AU Eothiriel fanfic.

Purely chaotic mid twenties shenanigans and the total opposite of Four Rings. Writing it probably shouldn't be this much fun

Éowyn grinned at her and leaned over, she pressed her nail into the edge of Lottie’s lip and put her lipstick back within the lines. She told Lottie to open her mouth and she put a pill inside, Lothíriel washed it down with the rest of her drink and asked if Éowyn wanted another. The girl shook her head, “My brother is almost here, I’ll let him get it. He’s moved up a tax bracket this year, he can afford it.”

Lottie didn’t hear most of that, the music was very loud, she just saw the head shake and shrugged. She’d never met Wynn’s brother, he lived in Australia where his sister’s delightful accent came from and most of Éowyn’s family looked equally blonde. She knew the two were close, she wasn’t sure why Éomer couldn’t make more time for his sister. Éowyn was wonderful and she went through moods. Highs and lows, Lottie knew some of it but not all and she judged her friend’s family harshly for only ever calling her on the phone. It was the bare minimum.

But in this case, if she heard what Wynn actually said, she would have happily pointed out that Éowyn currently lived off her trust fund. She could afford to buy her own drinks.

Lothíriel sighed at the chaos of the bar, she tossed her long hair back, wriggled her dress down a little bit and began to press her way through the mess of people. When she got to the bar she very slightly pushed her arms together, hoping to make something that looked like cleavage happen. She was already irritated by the time she got two bottles of water and another vodka soda but when the machine flashed a decline and the bartender looked to her expectantly she moved on to genuinely frustrated. Her boss had a random schedule for paychecks which amounted to ‘when I feel like it’. Now she was out of money, about to explore whatever trip the random pill would take her on and she’d have nothing until Isolde ‘felt like’ depositing something in her account.

She saw a man put up a hand, he asked to add a beer and two tequila shots to the mix and tapped his card before she could protest. She turned to look at him, “You didn’t need to do that,” she said.

He pointed to his ear, pretended he couldn’t hear her and handed her the shot.

“Tequila is certainly… a choice,” but she took the lime and put the salt obediently on her hand, took her shot and licked the salt off. She groaned.

“You survived, well done,” either the tequila was very strong or her trip was starting. He had the bluest eyes she’d ever seen and she felt she spent ages looking at them.

“Beggars, choosers,” she said with a grin, “I appreciate it, I’ll get cash out, pay you back.”

“With your declined card?”

“With… something, eventually.”

“It’s a gift,” his eyes drifted down to her chest, “Someone should appreciate your efforts. Couldn’t let you go thirsty after all that work.”

She blushed. It seemed like even the glitter on her face turned pink, “It’s a vicious world,” she stepped in a bit closer so she could hear him. So he could hear her, “Sometimes you have to do things you’d be embarrassed if someone saw. Other than a bartender. Who you hope does see.”

“It sounds complicated,” he agreed and looked back down to see if it was really that complicated, it wasn’t, “I can’t pour you a drink but I can get you one.”

“You’ve already-”

“Oh no, you’ll have to get my attention again. It’s vicious out here.”

She laughed then, covered her red face and tipped her head back in disbelief. A warm hand touched her hip, she looked down and he was grinning at her.

“Or this one can be on me. You’ll get the next round.”

“We both know I won’t.”

“Then I guess that one is on me too,” his hand left her hip and she involuntarily stepped forward, her body tried to chase it. Her mind wasn’t really trying to slow her down either.

“I’m getting the feeling you’d like to get me drunk, handsome stranger and one: it’s a very bad idea, two: I can’t leave my friend there alone. I have the keys and she’ll end up in Newcastle or something.”

“One: I am handsome, thank you,” he looked to the bartender, held up two fingers and handed his card in to start a tab, “Two: she’s waiting for her water,” he nodded at the water bottles that technically belonged to him. Lottie was momentarily defeated.

When the shots came back and it was tequila again, she raised her eyebrows, “Is this a punishment for objectifying you?” He pointed to his ear again, would she like to say it again? She shook her head and reached obediently for her drink. He stopped her. In a show of pure brazeness that took her breath away, he took her hand, licked the spot where salt went, sprinkled her liberally, he took his shot with his eyes on her, she barely tasted her own. She was going to fuck a stranger tonight. She would never hear the end of it.

He tipped her chin up and looked at her eyes, “You took something fun.”

She nodded, shrugged, “My friend… she’s never met a pill she didn’t like. Or a friend she wouldn’t share it with.”

“I could be a friend,” he said.

“You could be an excellent friend,” she agreed and tipped her head to where she left Éowyn, a warm hand touched the small of her back, he held his beer carefully out of the way and blocked the crowd from her. God, she really was going to fuck a stranger.

She caught sight of Wynn but her friend’s face lit up, she yelled, “Éomer!”

Lothíriel looked around, behind her. Realised only when the warm hand left her back and Wynn had thrown herself into his arms that Éomer was her handsome stranger, he had a name. The lights got very pretty and the music felt very nice, this might be a problem. She was definitely going to fuck Éowyn’s brother. Definitely.

#lothiriel #eomer #eothiriel #eomer x lothiriel #eowyn #eothiriel fanfic #modern AU lotr #in which lothiriel and eowyn are called suffocatingly co-dependant roughly four times #a true 'oh shit they're hot' fever dream of a fic #and i get to use my favourite lothiriel nickname #modern au eothiriel #everyone is modern and nothing hurts #theodred lives #(theoden does not)#eowyn and lothiriel do geriatric acro every wednesday so she can drag eowyn out of the house.#they're soulmates and eomer is just there on the side ruining everything #wow weirdly stressed about posting things on ye old tumblr

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