I do not consent to my work being stolen, translated, or fed to AI. Make good choices people.
Welcome to Jupiter,
My name is June! Here's more about me if you're curious. I have accumulated a hoard of stories which can all be found below!
Current obsessions: Lord of the Rings and Game of Thrones
Happy browsing...
Masterlists:
Avatar Archives
Lord of the Rings
Sam Worthington Characters
Frankenstein's Monster
Superman
Marauders
Fandoms: Lord of the Rings, Avatar, Game of Thrones, Frankenstein, DC and Marvel, Star Wars, BBC’s Merlin
Dude, I remember when you were on your first Jake Sully request, seeing your beautiful masterlist full of writing made me so nostalgic and happy!
Awww. Thank you so much for sharing this with me! I have gotten so many more great requests since then!!
It has certainly been a fun and crazy 7 months of (consistent) fic writing. If only January June could see me now! I'm so surprised and happy that people engaged with my silly account at all, especially those of you who stuck around!
Thank you again for the ask!! (My inbox has been dryyyyy recently)
Description: You share a, somewhat, quiet morning with your husband, three babies, and a whole lot of fruit.
Word Count: 1.5k
Content Warning: no real plot, takes place between avatar 1 and 2, established relationship, co-sleeping, reader is afab, breastfeeding, eating, Lo’ak is about 3 months, Neteyam and Kiri are about a year and a half-ish, fluff, domestic life, (let me know if i missed anything !)
Author's Note: i’m so sorry i’ve been so inactive 😭 i hope you enjoy this one !! it’s been sitting in my pile of wips for a really long time. pray i get my mojo back ! i miss writing and enjoying it !
divider by @saradika-graphics
A rare quiet had settled over the Sully kelku (home), with all of its members piled into a large, sturdy hammock, nestled in the back of the dwelling. Jake slept with his back to the outside world, curled around his wife and his three small children. Kiri dozed soundly, tucked into her father’s chest, while Neteyam laid by your shoulder, his steady wispy breath tickling your ear.
The silence was broken when small whines came from the baby on your other side, turning into cries and waking you from a light sleep. Jake shifted beside you as you gathered Lo’ak into your arms and cooed softly, wiping the tears from his azure cheeks.
Sleepily, you helped him latch, smoothing over his hair covered brow as he drank with fervor. Always hungry and consequently filling out quickly, your youngest son made you wonder what your mate looked like as a child. Glancing at Jake, whose half-lidded eyes watched you intently, you were quite certain Eywa had blessed you with a glimpse.
You kissed Lo’ak’s four-fingered hand as he lifted it up to touch your face. His small tail curled around your wrist like it always did when you held him. Wide, yellow eyes peered up at you over the swell of your breast, sparkling as the rising sun filtered through the woven canopy above and danced across his stripes.
Jake was quick to place a hand on your arm when you attempted to sit up, taking Lo’ak from you and climbing out of the hammock. Jake let you rest when he could, knowing his duties as Olo’eyktan sometimes kept him away, and loving quiet mornings with his children. Especially after a bad night, when his dreams brought back memories that he would rather leave behind. Despite the lack of sleep, seeing their sweet faces and caring for them kept you both present and, most of all, thankful.
Your mate rocked the prrnen (baby) with the practiced movements of fatherhood, shifting his weight from foot to foot, and you settled back down. With him gone, Kiri stretched out to fill the space and Neteyam stirred. He pushed himself up, standing with his eyes still closed but holding his arms out to you. You laughed at the sight and gently pulled him down onto your chest. He rubbed his face against your sternum, patting your sides with his small hands as.
You snuggled with your toddlers in the hammock as Jake sat with Lo’ak on the opposite side of the marui (dwelling), beside the large entrance. The morning sun lit them in a bright, hazy glow and it was almost like a dream. You drifted in and out of sleep until the sound of Lo’ak’s full-bellied laughter rang out in your home.
The sound made your eyes fly open and your heart soar.
Jake was hunched over Lo’ak, who grasped strands of his father’s long hair in chubby hands. Laughter floated out of your son’s mouth as Jake blew soft raspberries on the small boy’s round stomach. The still-novel sound was like music to your ears. Of all the songs that Eywa had written, it was your favorite. Jake’s own low and breathy chuckle only made it sweeter, like a beautiful harmony.
Jake’s tail swished excitedly behind him and his gaze rose to meet yours. His eyes sparkled with pride and awe, but his smile was smug. As if Toruk Makto needed anything else to pad his ego, it happened that he was the only one who could make little Lo’ak laugh. You sent him a pointed look with feigned offense, not meaning it at all, and received a wink in return.
Jake continued playing with Lo’ak as Neteyam and Kiri took turns at your breast. You hummed a simple song over them, welcoming the day with a thankful prayer. When they were content, you helped them climb down from the hammock and watched as they ran to their sempu (dad). He held his free arm out to sweep them into his embrace.
You would have stayed abed in the hammock, watching the blissfully domestic scene, if it were not for your growling stomach and the fact that Jake was severely outnumbered. Unhurriedly, you swung your legs over the side of the swaynivi (family hammock), securing a shawl around your shoulders before pushing off toward the baskets of food.
Crouching, you put together a leaf plate full of an assortment of fruits that made your mouth water. Desperate to satiate your seemingly neverending hunger, you munched on the ripe fruit and listened as Jake attempted to interpret your children’s babbling. An amused smile spread across your face as he conversed with them about something ridiculous that he was absolutely making up.
You were cutting another tìhawnuwll (spartan fruit) when Kiri appeared by your side, peering down at your hands as they worked.
“Mah-tee,” she observed, pointing at the fruit.
“Mauti (fruit),” you repeated, handing her a piece and smoothing down her sleep-mussed hair as she ate.
Neteyam’s sweet voice came from behind you, repeating the word “meyam (hug)” quite demandingly. You glanced back to find him sitting in Jake’s lap, attempting to hold Lo’ak on his own. Neteyam was grinning, arms wrapped tightly around his little brother’s middle. Your lips quirked upwards at the sight. Your oldest often forgot he was still a baby himself.
“Go to sempu (dad),” you encouraged Kiri as you stood and followed her back to Jake.
Kiri ran and Jake watched with a smile as you neared. You held out a piece of tìhawnuwll to Jake and he took it between his teeth, catching your wrist before you could pull away and licking the juice from your fingers.
“Thanks, baby.” He murmured, kissing your palm before letting you go. “Sleep okay?”
You settled beside him with a hum and leaned your head against his shoulder.
“What’s Lo’ak got against sleeping these days?” Jake yawned as you ate.
“If he is anything like his siblings, it will just be a few weeks more,” you replied, offering Jake another bite. “I hope… for our sanity.”
Lo’ak had put up a nasty fight, refusing to sleep and waking constantly throughout the night. You had gotten through similar sleep regressions with Kiri and Neteyam, but experience did not make this particular trial any easier. Such a blissful morning felt like a reward for the battle that was the night prior.
“He's taking it like a champ, though,” Jake noted, holding Lo’ak’s small foot between his fingers and inspiring Kiri to take the other one. “He’s real happy today.”
“Then perhaps today I will make him laugh,” you declared, meeting Jake’s gaze with confidence as you barred your children from knocking the leaf plate off your lap and onto the woven floor.
His brows lifted and his head titled as he regarded you with playful skepticism. “Good luck with that.”
You swatted his arm and Jake’s amused laugh was almost a snicker.
“Do you doubt me, husband? I will have you know that Lo’ak smiles at me all the time,” you informed him.
Jake shook his head. “Not the same.”
You leveled a look at your mate. “It means he might laugh. And it could be today.”
Jake’s smile softened and his mouth opened to speak, but Lo’ak squawked instead. The little one kicked his feet free from Kiri and Jake’s captivity and Neteyam patted Lo’ak’s belly in an effort to sooth him.
Unfazed, Kiri stood from her crouched position and moved between your legs. She took some fruit from the plate in both hands and offered them to you. It was your turn to laugh as she tried to maneuver two handfuls of fruit into your open mouth.
“Thank you, sweet girl,” you managed while chewing.
Kiri beamed and turned, plopping down in your lap, occasionally gesturing for more fruit by sticking her hand out. Jake was smoothing a hand over Neteyam’s thick, dark hair when you saw the boy eyeing the plate of fruits from his confined spot. Neteyam leaned toward you, taking Lo’ak with him, his small mouth open as wide as it could get.
“Here ya go, pal.” Jake took a few pieces from the plate and held them within the boy’s reach in his open palm.
Neteyam munched gratefully, sticky hands touching everything they should not, including Lo’ak’s hair. But your youngest was much too occupied with attempting to grab Neteyam’s share to notice.
The leaf plate’s contents quickly dwindled to nothing and you found yourself cutting more fruit at your children’s request for nì'ul (more). Squeals and giggles lifted into the air as Jake chased Kiri and Neteyam around the marui (dwelling) while they waited, holding Lo’ak out before him like a flying beast. Maybe even Toruk himself.
Your children definitely inherited their affinity for fruit from you. You hummed in delight as you sampled each one you added to the plate, taking the time to fill your stomach while you could. Before little hands laid waste to the sweet nourishment. They all ran to you when you sat back down with the replenished fruits, flushed and eager to eat.
“Eywa, this family will surely eat all the fruit in the forest,” you mused, smiling fondly with full heart, if not a full belly.
Description: Éomer arrives home from battle days early due to a mysterious illness.
Content Warnings/tag: takes place after the War of the Ring, fluffy, hurt/comfort(ish), Sick!Eomer, established relationship
Author's note: I am working on writing a longer multipart fic that I started years ago, so these oneshots are acting as my much needed brain breaks
“Has Lord Erkenbrand sent word whether he will be supping with us when he arrives?” you asked your ladies maid, Matilde, as you wove your way through the wooden homes in the lower parts of Edoras. She was a quiet woman, only a few years younger than you, but she was as loyal and responsible as they come.
“Yes, your Grace. The messenger arrived this morning. Lord Erkenbrand says he plans to arrive around midday the day after tomorrow and would be honored to accept your invitation to take a seat at the King’s table. He also sent well wishes for both you and the King,” Matilde recited what she remembered.
You nodded in thought, “Good, I am glad he is able to come. Although there is still much to do,” you thought aloud. In the coming week, many lords were planning to arrive in Edoras to meet and take counsel with each other over various subjects. “Has the menu been prepared?”
“Cook is sending it for your approval today. It should be waiting for us when we return,” Mathilde answered.
Behind you, flanked three guards, handpicked by the king himself to protect you and do your bidding while he was away. A Kingsguard was a high honor, but to be picked for Rohan’s Queensguard was the highest. It conveyed that King Éomer trusted these men not only with his life, but yours. The men he picked were gentle and kind, but in the few times you had seen them fight, also deadly.
Today, you had tasked them all to carry coins and foodstuffs for the sick citizens of Rohan’s capital city. You liked to keep busy while Éomer was away, one of the ways you preferred was attending to the people of Edoras and earning your spot as their Queen. Most items had already been distributed and you were on the last few stops before heading home.
“Your Majesty,” an elderly woman gasped, making you and your small procession slow to a stop. You looked to see who had called you and the woman bowed low. The child who grasped her hand did the same, although with considerably less grace.
“Rise,” you prompted, “Aethid, is it not?” You were quite sure you had met this woman before at the market selling her wares.
The woman and, who you assumed to be, her grandchild rose to their full heights, allowing you to see the small sacks of grain they each carried. “Yes, your grace. I am honored that one as busy as yourself would remember the likes of old me. The people say you are kind, and they are right to do so. This is my son’s daughter, Éowyn, named for our king’s brave sister, as you could guess.”
The blonde little girl peered up at you with soft brown eyes that looked liquid. She smiled nervously before dropping into a hasty curtsy. “Your Majesty,” she said in an adorable voice.
You could not help the smile that made its way onto your own face. “You are beautiful, as is my sister, Éowyn. I say, you will be just as mighty and kind as she one day,” you told her.
A bright pink blush rose to her cheeks as she stepped closer to her grandmother. “You are pretty too,” she said quietly.
Your chest warmed at her genuine heart. “Thank you, dear Éowyn. That means much that you would tell me that you think so,” you said.
Éowyn’s eyebrows furrowed. “Does King Éomer not tell you?” she asked
You let out a laugh, “Yes, he does, be he has to as he is stuck with me. But you did not have to say so, therefore it is special that you would tell me.”
Éowyn beamed up at you and her grandmother proudly smoothed the child’s hair down.
At that moment, a great shout sounded from the lower gates, which were just barely in sight between the houses. Everyone’s heads flew to look just as the guards opened the gates and three horses thundered through.
The riders were merely humanoid blobs from this far away, but you could recognize the gray coat and differentiated armor of Firefoot, Éomer’s horse, from anywhere. Atop his back was a slumped-over man with the build of a bear and who looked to be just barely staying in his saddle.
“Éomer,” you gasped, your hand flying to your chest and feeling the rapid beating of your heart.
The three riders flew past the guards, barely slowing from a gallop. Éomer’s peacetime Eored should have been heading back from the North where there had been whispers of rouge orc packs near Fangorn. The small army of 200 Rohirrim had gone to kill any stragglers and Éomer had insisted on seeing to it himself. Fresh on his mind was his promise to Aragorn that he would hold Rohan’s borders against any ill mannered creature and would handle any evil still in the lands.
Eomer had set out as their leader, yet he returned now with only two at his side. Had things gone south? You desperately needed to know what had occurred and the state of the other men. Surely they had not died in battle with so few orcs, not after they had survived Helm’s Deep, Pellennor, and the Black Gate. Something must have gone terribly wrong.
“Make way for the King!” A voice you recognized to be Gamling’s roared over the town. At the panicked sound of his voice and the confirmation that it was Éomer slumped over, you picked up your skirts and took off at a sprint, forgetting all about those you were leaving behind.
Your slippers were quickly covered in grass and dirt, but you cared little for the silk at your feet. People gaped at their queen as you flew by them, but you did not stop. When Meduseld’s doors finally came into view, you had broken into a sweat in the late Spring warmth. Your hair tangled and streamed behind you as you took the steps two at a time.
You reached the veranda and pushed through the doors, finding a small group of Éomer’s council whispering worriedly to themselves. They stilled when you stormed in, hair wild and your hem covered six inches in mud. You looked for Gamling or Eomer, but found neither. They would have beat you here by several minutes.
“Where is he?” you asked shortly. One of your Queensguard skidded to a stop in the doorway, having evidently followed you, but you paid him no mind.
An elderly man stepped forward and began to speak. “My lady, he is not feeling well, perhaps you should-”
“Enough. Where is he?” you snapped, a fire burning in your gaze that made the councilmember to step back.
“My Queen, he is here,” a voice to the side of the room called. To your relief, you turned to see Gamling waving you down the hall.
You hurried to him. “What has happened?” you asked, “Is the king well?”
Gamling pursed his lips grimly. “He is quite sick, he began feeling ill three days past, but only consented to parting with the men this morning.”
You paled. In all the years you had known him, Éomer had never been sick. His allergies had acted up, he occasionally woke with aching joints and sore past battle wounds in the coldest days of winter, but he did not get sick.
“But the other men are okay?” you asked to clarify.
“Yes, my lady. We defeated the orcs we found for there were few. We were heading back to Edoras when he became sick. He thought he could carry on, but he only got worse. We decided to ride ahead so he could see a physician,” he explained.
“Good, that was wise,” you said.
You and Gamling made it down the hall and he paused before your chamber door. “The physician has been called, but the king is quite ill. I feel I must prepare you.”
“If he was well enough to ride back on his horse, he will be well enough to suffer me. Let me see him.” You pushed past him to open the door. Éomer was not in the bed as you expected, but instead standing next to the fireplace with a hand braced against the mantle as if that was all that was holding him up. Alwain, a young boy who served as Gamling’s squire, was helping him pull on a sleeping tunic. Éomer had already changed out of his armor and traveling attire, and was now in his bedclothes.
“My love,” Éomer croaked, looking over at you, relief filling his gaze. His face was pale and had a sheen of perspiration over it. His hair looked dark with sweat as well, and the smaller, blond wisps stuck to his skin.
“Éomer,” you breathed out, hurrying to his side. “They made it out to be that you were on your deathbed. You must not be so unwell, if you are standing and moving about,” you pointed out, a glimmer of hope finding its way back into your heart.
“Even so, I feel as though I were at death’s door. Help me to bed, Alwain,” he instructed.
Éomer put his arm over the teenager’s shoulders and Alwain aided him in hobbling to bed. You rushed to throw the covers back so that Éomer could get under them unhindered. He sneezed then, racking his whole body with the movement before Alwain helped him lay down on the mattress.
It hurt you like a violent stabbing to your heart that your strong and independent husband was being helped from place to place as if he were an old man. Alwain backed away as Éomer laid out on the bed, groaning and griping as he moved. He must be in a terrible way. It was rare for Éomer to complain about nearly anything.
“Oh my dear,” you fussed, pulling the covers up to his chin. “Gamling, have some soup prepared and extra blankets brought,” you ordered. You departed from Éomer’s side for just a moment to grab a chair, yet he reached out a hand and grabbed your wrist as if you were leaving him entirely.
“Yes, My Lady. Come, Alwain, go on and see to the horses,” Gamling instructed, waving the boy through and shutting the door when both had made their exit.
You sat gingerly on the wooden seat, leaning forward to be close to your husband. “What ails you? Is there anything I can do?” you murmured, gripping Éomer’s hand tightly in both of yours.
“My head feels as if it has been filled with cotton and my body aches. Could you feel my forehead? Is it hot?” he requested, moving his head closer to you.
You swept his hair off of his skin and laid the back of your hand on his head. He was warm, but not concerningly hot. You felt his cheek with your palm instead, furrowing your eyebrows.
“Is it that bad?” he asked pitifully, closing his eyes at the pleasant feel of your cool touch.
“No, it is not bad at all,” you hummed, leaning down to place your cheek against his. “You feel fairly normal, Éomer. Maybe a touch warm,” you offered, pressing a kiss to his cheek and straightening.
“Careful, I cannot have you getting sick as well,” he said, squeezing your hand. “I truly have no fever?”
“None that I can tell. Hopefully the physician will have better judgement than I,” you appeased him and he nodded. “Roll onto your side so I can deal with this hair,” you instructed.
He obediently and silently rolled onto his side and picked his head up a little for you to gather his blond locks to the back of his head. He coughed, a dry and painful sound.
You began gently fingercombing the windswept snarls out. “Why did you not ride back the moment you felt the least bit ill?” you asked. “Gamling said you waited three days.”
He scoffed weakly, “I could not leave my men. I have not gotten this sick since I was a boy. I have never left them for something so trivial before,” he said, his voice was a touch deeper than normal.
“And yet you had to leave them in the end anyways,” you pointed out, disappointed, but not surprised by the stubbornness of the nephew of Theoden.
“Éothain and Gamling nearly threw me on the horse and forced me home before I could have anything to do with it. It was hours before dawn when we set off,” he explained.
You grinned at his childish attitude. Éomer was noble, strong, and proud, but it seemed he turned into a big baby when he was not feeling well.
“I am glad they did. Now I can be the one to care for you,” you said, starting a braid at the top of his head that gathered more hair as it went down until not a single piece was left out of it.
“That has been a bright spot in all of this,” he agreed.
“Why did Gamling not find a cart or carriage for you? You looked to have trouble staying upright when you came through the gates.”
He scoffed again. “Can you imagine? The king of the Horse lords riding in a carriage?” he said the last word as if it was a curse. “No, I would rather Firefoot bring me back tied to the saddle.”
“Your pride will be the death of you,” you chastised, although you felt an approaching grin at the thought of him riding in a frilly coach.
He became silent as you worked, his breathing evening out into deep inhales and exhales. You paused and peered over his shoulder to check on him. To your satisfaction, he had fallen asleep. He needed the rest.
You tied off the braid with a piece of string and pulled the blanket over his shoulder where it had fallen down. You leaned back on your chair, watching his breaths nervously for minutes that grew long.
A light knock sounded at the door, and when you told them to come in, Mathilde walked through the door with a bowl in her hand and a blanket folded over her other arm.
“Your Majesty, the healer is here,” she informed you. You smiled slightly in relief. “Good, please come in,” you invited them. An older woman came in after Mathilde with a heavy leather bag at her side.
You hurried to vacate your seat to get out of the way.
“Your Grace,” the older woman, who you recognized to be called Audrey, nodded to acknowledge you and you nodded back, opening your arm to invite her to look at him.
“You are most welcome here. Thank you for coming so quickly,” you told her.
“Of course, your majesty. I came as soon as I heard,” she said. She waltzed in and quickly took your spot on the wooden chair. Mathilde set the bowl on the small table next to the fire and began spreading the blanket out at the end of the bed.
Éomer still slept soundly, not disturbed at all by the newcomers. Although it had worried you at the beginning of your marriage, you had grown used to the way he slept like the dead. It took great effort to wake him before he was ready, yet he always woke up early on his own to get a start on his day.
You watched while wringing your hands as Audrey pulled out her tools and began the examination. She felt his forehead, hummed in thought, and then put her fingers to his neck to check for the speed of his heartbeat.
She hesitated and turned back to you. “I hate to wake him when he is resting, but might I do so to ask him a few questions?” she asked.
You nodded. “Do whatever needs to be done.”
“Thank you. Your majesty?” Audrey called, placing a hand on Éomer’s shoulder and shaking him slightly.
He did not stir, instead he breathed in so deep it nearly sounded like a snore. “Your majesty?” Audrey tried again.
You sighed fondly, walking over to the other side of the bed and kneeling on the mattress. “Éomer, dear. Wake up,” you said evenly, placing a hand on his cheek. You gently tapped him a couple times. “Get up,” you said again louder.
With a sharp inhale, Éomer blinked awake and looked blearily up at you.
You smiled at the innocent and confused look on his face.“The healer is here and she needs to take a look at you,” you explained, nodding to the older woman over his shoulder.
“Ah, my apologies,” he groaned, rolling onto his back. “I do not remember falling asleep.”
“No need to apologize, your Grace. I am sure you are wanting your rest, but I have a few things to ask you.”
Audrey asked Éomer about the state of his throat, his lungs, requested that he stick his tongue out, squeeze her hand, and even had him hum a little tune. She eventually nodded and began packing up.
“I believe I know what you have, your Majesty,” she said definitively.
You leaned forward where you had sat on the bed next to him. “What is it? Can it be cured?” you asked desperately.
“Oh quite easily,” she assured you. “King Éomer, you have a cold, probably brought on by the changing of the seasons. Drink plenty of liquids and get your rest. You will begin to feel better in a week or two,” she explained.
You and Éomer glanced at each other in surprise. “Are you quite sure?” Éomer asked, “I feel much worse than one would expect for just an ordinary cold.”
“I am quite sure,” Audrey assured him. “Fetch me if you fare any worse, but you will be just fine.”
“Thank you,” you told her, standing up and gesturing for Mathilde to show her out and give her coin for the trouble.
They exited the room and you spun back around to a stunned Éomer. “A cold,” he murmured. “I would have guessed I had a plague of some kind.”
“You are a giant child, King Éomer! All this moaning and griping over a cold,” you laughed, sitting back down beside him and kicking off your boots.
“I fear I have rather embarrassed myself in that aspect,” he groaned, covering his eyes with his hand as you laid beside him and tucked yourself under the covers.
“Rather thoroughly,” you agreed.
“Perhaps we could tell others that it is a Sweating Sickness, or some other sort of horror, and that my body is riddled with fever so as to not let anyone else in,” he suggested, only the smirk on his lips giving away his humor. His face was still pale and his eyes looked weary.
“Tell me plainly,” you teased. “Did you do all this just for a few days of peace? I am sure there have to be simpler ways.”
He laughed, wincing when the movement of air hurt his throat and lungs. “I am sure there are, and had I thought of them, could have enjoyed any of those other excuses far better,” he said.
“You do look in a bad way,” you admitted. “Very well, I suppose I shall still tend to you, even if it is a simple cold.” You kissed his cheek and settled your head onto his shoulder.
“You are a most devoted wife to take pity on me,” he hummed, leaning his head on yours.
This is a part of my Mangkwan!Jake AU. You can read their origin story here.
Word count: 700
Pairing: Ash Na'vi!Jake Sully x wife!reader
Description: You give Jake a new piercing, but he's not the only Sully wanting one.
Content Warnings: AU where the Omatikaya turn into Ash Na'vi as well. piercings, otherwise fluffy
Author's note: Based on this request by @thenightstar20 and this ask by anon!
Disclaimer: I am still not taking Avatar requests or writing for it really, I just thought this concept was interesting. I am still very much in my LOTR phase for anyone wondering.
The bone needle pierced Jake's skin, making him emit a light hiss as you drove it through the top of his hair covered brow. The fires and torches flickered in the Sully family tent, casting an orange glow on you both.
“Felt good, baby,” he told you despite his tight jaw. His fingers dug into your thigh as you kneeled over him. The evening was cool and the chill bit at your skin, but you did not find yourself caring. He sat on the woven ground, legs out before him as you pinched the warm skin and held it in place.
Your lips curved up into a smile at his reaction, never getting enough of him. He looked more and more attractive to you as he aged, seeming to grow broader and more fearsome. The piercings and scars he was accumulating only made your problem grow worse. Being this close to him was intoxicating. His molten gold eyes were so fixed on you that it was hard to concentrate.
You had talked him into letting you give him another piercing with little pushback from him. The clan piercer would never touch him, not while you still were breathing. He was yours and yours alone. That meant she had taught you your way around a needle so that you could do what you were doing now.
You transferred the piece of metal jewelry into position and slowly drew the needle out, pulling the hoop into place as you went. You squeezed the metal ends flush together and leaned back to take a look.
“It looks very good, Ma Jake,” you informed him, admiring the silver shine in the low light.
He smirked. “Still gonna want to give me another one in a couple days?” he asked, raising his unpierced brow at you.
You smiled back, taking his face in your hands. “Most likely,” you murmured as you kissed him. It was slow and agonizing, and he seemed to only be drawing it out longer and longer.
“Sempul (Father)!” A young voice cried from outside the tent before the flap was being tossed back and Tuk was flying through it. “Sa’nok (mother)!” she called.
You and Jake broke apart before you swiveled around to see your youngest and hear the cause of her exclamation.
“Lo’ak said he could kill more Atlas Beetles than me before the evening meal, but I killed 6 and he only killed 5! I won! I finally won!” She squealed.
You raised your hands to hug her and she ran into them. “Good job, Parultsyìp (little loved one)!” you congratulated her as she wrapped her arms around you. At only 6 years old, she was beginning her training to become a warrior like her siblings.
“I’m so proud of you, Tuk,” Jake added, rubbing a hand up her ash covered back. “I bet Lo’ak is pretty mad, huh?”
“Oh yes, Sempul. He is soooo angry,” she snickered, pulling away from you to face her father.
“We should probably keep our distance from him tonight,” Jake suggested with a grin.
She gasped as she realized the new addition to her father’s look. “Sempul, when did you get this?” she asked, ghosting a finger over Jake’s eyebrow.
“Just now, your sa’nu gave it to me. Do ya like it?” he asked, turning his head so she could see it better.
“I love it!” She assured him, smiling at the jewelry.
“Do you think he needs more?” you asked her opinion.
“Yes! Many more!” She nodded.
Jake laughed, “You girls will put more metal in me than in Hell’s Gate.”
Tuk’s eyes lit up with a new idea. “Can I get one too?” she asked excitedly. “Please! Everyone else has them!”
You and Jake exchanged a look, “Well… you did beat your brother…” you pointed out.
“She’s still a little young,” Jake argued.
“Please, Sempul! I am old enough!” she begged, clasping her hands together and giving Jake the look she only used when she wanted something.
He sighed. “Alright, fine. If it's okay with your mother, then it's alright with me,” he relented. “But only the one for now.”
“Yes!!!” Tuk exclaimed, throwing her arms around Jake’s neck and hugging him tightly. “Thank you!”
who could deny this sweetie pie anything ???? I LOVE HER 🥰
i loved this !! probably the least unhinged of your Mangkwan AU 😳 it’s so great learning more about the Sullys and their dynamics and you’re able to explore that so well even in a shorter blurb !!
This is a part of my Mangkwan!Jake AU. You can read their origin story here.
Word count: 700
Pairing: Ash Na'vi!Jake Sully x wife!reader
Description: You give Jake a new piercing, but he's not the only Sully wanting one.
Content Warnings: AU where the Omatikaya turn into Ash Na'vi as well. piercings, otherwise fluffy
Author's note: Based on this request by @thenightstar20 and this ask by anon!
Disclaimer: I am still not taking Avatar requests or writing for it really, I just thought this concept was interesting. I am still very much in my LOTR phase for anyone wondering.
The bone needle pierced Jake's skin, making him emit a light hiss as you drove it through the top of his hair covered brow. The fires and torches flickered in the Sully family tent, casting an orange glow on you both.
“Felt good, baby,” he told you despite his tight jaw. His fingers dug into your thigh as you kneeled over him. The evening was cool and the chill bit at your skin, but you did not find yourself caring. He sat on the woven ground, legs out before him as you pinched the warm skin and held it in place.
Your lips curved up into a smile at his reaction, never getting enough of him. He looked more and more attractive to you as he aged, seeming to grow broader and more fearsome. The piercings and scars he was accumulating only made your problem grow worse. Being this close to him was intoxicating. His molten gold eyes were so fixed on you that it was hard to concentrate.
You had talked him into letting you give him another piercing with little pushback from him. The clan piercer would never touch him, not while you still were breathing. He was yours and yours alone. That meant she had taught you your way around a needle so that you could do what you were doing now.
You transferred the piece of metal jewelry into position and slowly drew the needle out, pulling the hoop into place as you went. You squeezed the metal ends flush together and leaned back to take a look.
“It looks very good, Ma Jake,” you informed him, admiring the silver shine in the low light.
He smirked. “Still gonna want to give me another one in a couple days?” he asked, raising his unpierced brow at you.
You smiled back, taking his face in your hands. “Most likely,” you murmured as you kissed him. It was slow and agonizing, and he seemed to only be drawing it out longer and longer.
“Sempul (Father)!” A young voice cried from outside the tent before the flap was being tossed back and Tuk was flying through it. “Sa’nok (mother)!” she called.
You and Jake broke apart before you swiveled around to see your youngest and hear the cause of her exclamation.
“Lo’ak said he could kill more Atlas Beetles than me before the evening meal, but I killed 6 and he only killed 5! I won! I finally won!” She squealed.
You raised your hands to hug her and she ran into them. “Good job, Parultsyìp (little loved one)!” you congratulated her as she wrapped her arms around you. At only 6 years old, she was beginning her training to become a warrior like her siblings.
“I’m so proud of you, Tuk,” Jake added, rubbing a hand up her ash covered back. “I bet Lo’ak is pretty mad, huh?”
“Oh yes, Sempul. He is soooo angry,” she snickered, pulling away from you to face her father.
“We should probably keep our distance from him tonight,” Jake suggested with a grin.
She gasped as she realized the new addition to her father’s look. “Sempul, when did you get this?” she asked, ghosting a finger over Jake’s eyebrow.
“Just now, your sa’nu gave it to me. Do ya like it?” he asked, turning his head so she could see it better.
“I love it!” She assured him, smiling at the jewelry.
“Do you think he needs more?” you asked her opinion.
“Yes! Many more!” She nodded.
Jake laughed, “You girls will put more metal in me than in Hell’s Gate.”
Tuk’s eyes lit up with a new idea. “Can I get one too?” she asked excitedly. “Please! Everyone else has them!”
You and Jake exchanged a look, “Well… you did beat your brother…” you pointed out.
“She’s still a little young,” Jake argued.
“Please, Sempul! I am old enough!” she begged, clasping her hands together and giving Jake the look she only used when she wanted something.
He sighed. “Alright, fine. If it's okay with your mother, then it's alright with me,” he relented. “But only the one for now.”
“Yes!!!” Tuk exclaimed, throwing her arms around Jake’s neck and hugging him tightly. “Thank you!”
This is a part of my Mangkwan!Jake AU. You can read their origin story here.
Word count: 700
Pairing: Ash Na'vi!Jake Sully x wife!reader
Description: You give Jake a new piercing, but he's not the only Sully wanting one.
Content Warnings: AU where the Omatikaya turn into Ash Na'vi as well. piercings, otherwise fluffy
Author's note: Based on this request by @thenightstar20 and this ask by anon!
Disclaimer: I am still not taking Avatar requests or writing for it really, I just thought this concept was interesting. I am still very much in my LOTR phase for anyone wondering.
The bone needle pierced Jake's skin, making him emit a light hiss as you drove it through the top of his hair covered brow. The fires and torches flickered in the Sully family tent, casting an orange glow on you both.
“Felt good, baby,” he told you despite his tight jaw. His fingers dug into your thigh as you kneeled over him. The evening was cool and the chill bit at your skin, but you did not find yourself caring. He sat on the woven ground, legs out before him as you pinched the warm skin and held it in place.
Your lips curved up into a smile at his reaction, never getting enough of him. He looked more and more attractive to you as he aged, seeming to grow broader and more fearsome. The piercings and scars he was accumulating only made your problem grow worse. Being this close to him was intoxicating. His molten gold eyes were so fixed on you that it was hard to concentrate.
You had talked him into letting you give him another piercing with little pushback from him. The clan piercer would never touch him, not while you still were breathing. He was yours and yours alone. That meant she had taught you your way around a needle so that you could do what you were doing now.
You transferred the piece of metal jewelry into position and slowly drew the needle out, pulling the hoop into place as you went. You squeezed the metal ends flush together and leaned back to take a look.
“It looks very good, Ma Jake,” you informed him, admiring the silver shine in the low light.
He smirked. “Still gonna want to give me another one in a couple days?” he asked, raising his unpierced brow at you.
You smiled back, taking his face in your hands. “Most likely,” you murmured as you kissed him. It was slow and agonizing, and he seemed to only be drawing it out longer and longer.
“Sempul (Father)!” A young voice cried from outside the tent before the flap was being tossed back and Tuk was flying through it. “Sa’nok (mother)!” she called.
You and Jake broke apart before you swiveled around to see your youngest and hear the cause of her exclamation.
“Lo’ak said he could kill more Atlas Beetles than me before the evening meal, but I killed 6 and he only killed 5! I won! I finally won!” She squealed.
You raised your hands to hug her and she ran into them. “Good job, Parultsyìp (little loved one)!” you congratulated her as she wrapped her arms around you. At only 6 years old, she was beginning her training to become a warrior like her siblings.
“I’m so proud of you, Tuk,” Jake added, rubbing a hand up her ash covered back. “I bet Lo’ak is pretty mad, huh?”
“Oh yes, Sempul. He is soooo angry,” she snickered, pulling away from you to face her father.
“We should probably keep our distance from him tonight,” Jake suggested with a grin.
She gasped as she realized the new addition to her father’s look. “Sempul, when did you get this?” she asked, ghosting a finger over Jake’s eyebrow.
“Just now, your sa’nu gave it to me. Do ya like it?” he asked, turning his head so she could see it better.
“I love it!” She assured him, smiling at the jewelry.
“Do you think he needs more?” you asked her opinion.
“Yes! Many more!” She nodded.
Jake laughed, “You girls will put more metal in me than in Hell’s Gate.”
Tuk’s eyes lit up with a new idea. “Can I get one too?” she asked excitedly. “Please! Everyone else has them!”
You and Jake exchanged a look, “Well… you did beat your brother…” you pointed out.
“She’s still a little young,” Jake argued.
“Please, Sempul! I am old enough!” she begged, clasping her hands together and giving Jake the look she only used when she wanted something.
He sighed. “Alright, fine. If it's okay with your mother, then it's alright with me,” he relented. “But only the one for now.”
“Yes!!!” Tuk exclaimed, throwing her arms around Jake’s neck and hugging him tightly. “Thank you!”
June!!! I know you’re not really writing but I just have such a bad brain worm I need to share it!!!
So! Mangkwan!Jake, we love it, we devour it. Now, reader who is the body modder/jeweler for the clan. Reader who has get all up close and personal with Jake and it just flusters him??? Like “wow, hot lady touching me and inflicting pain??? Haha that’s hot 😈”
Heating up a knife to carve the new scar he earned and just the tension!!!! The glances, warm shared breaths, fleeting touches!!!! AUGH I NEED HIMMMMMMM and maybe like he brings reader materials to create custom pieces for him and every time it’s spot on when she summons him for a fitting???
I need a cold shower. Sorry if this is a little too spicy but I just had to let you know <3
I really liked this idea, so I decided to write a little blurb for it. I'm still not taking any requests, like you said, so thank you for phrasing this so politely and as a brain worm. I loved hearing this brain worm!
I just wrote a piercing, so not fully what you were meaning, but I loved the premise of it basically! Not exactly what you asked for, but I figured I would write a little something. It should be out tonight.
Hi! I’m currently going thru ur Avatar fics rn and I really appreciate how you use Navi terms and put the translations in parentheses right after it!! (Cuz some authors don’t do that and they kinda expect you to either know the term already or look it up yourself. And when there’s a lot of terms it gets kinda annoying having to look eveything up LMAO and it kinda takes me out of the fic having to go back and forth between tumblr and safari) so I really like how you do your fics 🙂↕️🙂↕️ so THANK YOU for being an awesome author. Also love your stories they’re all so gooooood and well written 🥰
hi lovely anon !!!
thank you for taking the time to write such a sweet ask/message !! 🥹
i started out on tumblr as a reader and knew only the bare minimum of Na'vi, like skxawng, so i've always appreciated authors that included translations within the text too !! i knew i had to do the same for my fics once i started writing. one of my favorite authors and bestie @junebugonjupiter's work and formatting really informed mine !
THANK YOU so so much for reading my work and for your kind words !! 🥺 i've been struggling to find the motivation to keep writing and your message came in at the perfect time ! i'm so happy that you are enjoying my writing ♥️
Description: Éomer arrives home from battle days early due to a mysterious illness.
Content Warnings/tag: takes place after the War of the Ring, fluffy, hurt/comfort(ish), Sick!Eomer, established relationship
Author's note: I am working on writing a longer multipart fic that I started years ago, so these oneshots are acting as my much needed brain breaks
“Has Lord Erkenbrand sent word whether he will be supping with us when he arrives?” you asked your ladies maid, Matilde, as you wove your way through the wooden homes in the lower parts of Edoras. She was a quiet woman, only a few years younger than you, but she was as loyal and responsible as they come.
“Yes, your Grace. The messenger arrived this morning. Lord Erkenbrand says he plans to arrive around midday the day after tomorrow and would be honored to accept your invitation to take a seat at the King’s table. He also sent well wishes for both you and the King,” Matilde recited what she remembered.
You nodded in thought, “Good, I am glad he is able to come. Although there is still much to do,” you thought aloud. In the coming week, many lords were planning to arrive in Edoras to meet and take counsel with each other over various subjects. “Has the menu been prepared?”
“Cook is sending it for your approval today. It should be waiting for us when we return,” Mathilde answered.
Behind you, flanked three guards, handpicked by the king himself to protect you and do your bidding while he was away. A Kingsguard was a high honor, but to be picked for Rohan’s Queensguard was the highest. It conveyed that King Éomer trusted these men not only with his life, but yours. The men he picked were gentle and kind, but in the few times you had seen them fight, also deadly.
Today, you had tasked them all to carry coins and foodstuffs for the sick citizens of Rohan’s capital city. You liked to keep busy while Éomer was away, one of the ways you preferred was attending to the people of Edoras and earning your spot as their Queen. Most items had already been distributed and you were on the last few stops before heading home.
“Your Majesty,” an elderly woman gasped, making you and your small procession slow to a stop. You looked to see who had called you and the woman bowed low. The child who grasped her hand did the same, although with considerably less grace.
“Rise,” you prompted, “Aethid, is it not?” You were quite sure you had met this woman before at the market selling her wares.
The woman and, who you assumed to be, her grandchild rose to their full heights, allowing you to see the small sacks of grain they each carried. “Yes, your grace. I am honored that one as busy as yourself would remember the likes of old me. The people say you are kind, and they are right to do so. This is my son’s daughter, Éowyn, named for our king’s brave sister, as you could guess.”
The blonde little girl peered up at you with soft brown eyes that looked liquid. She smiled nervously before dropping into a hasty curtsy. “Your Majesty,” she said in an adorable voice.
You could not help the smile that made its way onto your own face. “You are beautiful, as is my sister, Éowyn. I say, you will be just as mighty and kind as she one day,” you told her.
A bright pink blush rose to her cheeks as she stepped closer to her grandmother. “You are pretty too,” she said quietly.
Your chest warmed at her genuine heart. “Thank you, dear Éowyn. That means much that you would tell me that you think so,” you said.
Éowyn’s eyebrows furrowed. “Does King Éomer not tell you?” she asked
You let out a laugh, “Yes, he does, be he has to as he is stuck with me. But you did not have to say so, therefore it is special that you would tell me.”
Éowyn beamed up at you and her grandmother proudly smoothed the child’s hair down.
At that moment, a great shout sounded from the lower gates, which were just barely in sight between the houses. Everyone’s heads flew to look just as the guards opened the gates and three horses thundered through.
The riders were merely humanoid blobs from this far away, but you could recognize the gray coat and differentiated armor of Firefoot, Éomer’s horse, from anywhere. Atop his back was a slumped-over man with the build of a bear and who looked to be just barely staying in his saddle.
“Éomer,” you gasped, your hand flying to your chest and feeling the rapid beating of your heart.
The three riders flew past the guards, barely slowing from a gallop. Éomer’s peacetime Eored should have been heading back from the North where there had been whispers of rouge orc packs near Fangorn. The small army of 200 Rohirrim had gone to kill any stragglers and Éomer had insisted on seeing to it himself. Fresh on his mind was his promise to Aragorn that he would hold Rohan’s borders against any ill mannered creature and would handle any evil still in the lands.
Eomer had set out as their leader, yet he returned now with only two at his side. Had things gone south? You desperately needed to know what had occurred and the state of the other men. Surely they had not died in battle with so few orcs, not after they had survived Helm’s Deep, Pellennor, and the Black Gate. Something must have gone terribly wrong.
“Make way for the King!” A voice you recognized to be Gamling’s roared over the town. At the panicked sound of his voice and the confirmation that it was Éomer slumped over, you picked up your skirts and took off at a sprint, forgetting all about those you were leaving behind.
Your slippers were quickly covered in grass and dirt, but you cared little for the silk at your feet. People gaped at their queen as you flew by them, but you did not stop. When Meduseld’s doors finally came into view, you had broken into a sweat in the late Spring warmth. Your hair tangled and streamed behind you as you took the steps two at a time.
You reached the veranda and pushed through the doors, finding a small group of Éomer’s council whispering worriedly to themselves. They stilled when you stormed in, hair wild and your hem covered six inches in mud. You looked for Gamling or Eomer, but found neither. They would have beat you here by several minutes.
“Where is he?” you asked shortly. One of your Queensguard skidded to a stop in the doorway, having evidently followed you, but you paid him no mind.
An elderly man stepped forward and began to speak. “My lady, he is not feeling well, perhaps you should-”
“Enough. Where is he?” you snapped, a fire burning in your gaze that made the councilmember to step back.
“My Queen, he is here,” a voice to the side of the room called. To your relief, you turned to see Gamling waving you down the hall.
You hurried to him. “What has happened?” you asked, “Is the king well?”
Gamling pursed his lips grimly. “He is quite sick, he began feeling ill three days past, but only consented to parting with the men this morning.”
You paled. In all the years you had known him, Éomer had never been sick. His allergies had acted up, he occasionally woke with aching joints and sore past battle wounds in the coldest days of winter, but he did not get sick.
“But the other men are okay?” you asked to clarify.
“Yes, my lady. We defeated the orcs we found for there were few. We were heading back to Edoras when he became sick. He thought he could carry on, but he only got worse. We decided to ride ahead so he could see a physician,” he explained.
“Good, that was wise,” you said.
You and Gamling made it down the hall and he paused before your chamber door. “The physician has been called, but the king is quite ill. I feel I must prepare you.”
“If he was well enough to ride back on his horse, he will be well enough to suffer me. Let me see him.” You pushed past him to open the door. Éomer was not in the bed as you expected, but instead standing next to the fireplace with a hand braced against the mantle as if that was all that was holding him up. Alwain, a young boy who served as Gamling’s squire, was helping him pull on a sleeping tunic. Éomer had already changed out of his armor and traveling attire, and was now in his bedclothes.
“My love,” Éomer croaked, looking over at you, relief filling his gaze. His face was pale and had a sheen of perspiration over it. His hair looked dark with sweat as well, and the smaller, blond wisps stuck to his skin.
“Éomer,” you breathed out, hurrying to his side. “They made it out to be that you were on your deathbed. You must not be so unwell, if you are standing and moving about,” you pointed out, a glimmer of hope finding its way back into your heart.
“Even so, I feel as though I were at death’s door. Help me to bed, Alwain,” he instructed.
Éomer put his arm over the teenager’s shoulders and Alwain aided him in hobbling to bed. You rushed to throw the covers back so that Éomer could get under them unhindered. He sneezed then, racking his whole body with the movement before Alwain helped him lay down on the mattress.
It hurt you like a violent stabbing to your heart that your strong and independent husband was being helped from place to place as if he were an old man. Alwain backed away as Éomer laid out on the bed, groaning and griping as he moved. He must be in a terrible way. It was rare for Éomer to complain about nearly anything.
“Oh my dear,” you fussed, pulling the covers up to his chin. “Gamling, have some soup prepared and extra blankets brought,” you ordered. You departed from Éomer’s side for just a moment to grab a chair, yet he reached out a hand and grabbed your wrist as if you were leaving him entirely.
“Yes, My Lady. Come, Alwain, go on and see to the horses,” Gamling instructed, waving the boy through and shutting the door when both had made their exit.
You sat gingerly on the wooden seat, leaning forward to be close to your husband. “What ails you? Is there anything I can do?” you murmured, gripping Éomer’s hand tightly in both of yours.
“My head feels as if it has been filled with cotton and my body aches. Could you feel my forehead? Is it hot?” he requested, moving his head closer to you.
You swept his hair off of his skin and laid the back of your hand on his head. He was warm, but not concerningly hot. You felt his cheek with your palm instead, furrowing your eyebrows.
“Is it that bad?” he asked pitifully, closing his eyes at the pleasant feel of your cool touch.
“No, it is not bad at all,” you hummed, leaning down to place your cheek against his. “You feel fairly normal, Éomer. Maybe a touch warm,” you offered, pressing a kiss to his cheek and straightening.
“Careful, I cannot have you getting sick as well,” he said, squeezing your hand. “I truly have no fever?”
“None that I can tell. Hopefully the physician will have better judgement than I,” you appeased him and he nodded. “Roll onto your side so I can deal with this hair,” you instructed.
He obediently and silently rolled onto his side and picked his head up a little for you to gather his blond locks to the back of his head. He coughed, a dry and painful sound.
You began gently fingercombing the windswept snarls out. “Why did you not ride back the moment you felt the least bit ill?” you asked. “Gamling said you waited three days.”
He scoffed weakly, “I could not leave my men. I have not gotten this sick since I was a boy. I have never left them for something so trivial before,” he said, his voice was a touch deeper than normal.
“And yet you had to leave them in the end anyways,” you pointed out, disappointed, but not surprised by the stubbornness of the nephew of Theoden.
“Éothain and Gamling nearly threw me on the horse and forced me home before I could have anything to do with it. It was hours before dawn when we set off,” he explained.
You grinned at his childish attitude. Éomer was noble, strong, and proud, but it seemed he turned into a big baby when he was not feeling well.
“I am glad they did. Now I can be the one to care for you,” you said, starting a braid at the top of his head that gathered more hair as it went down until not a single piece was left out of it.
“That has been a bright spot in all of this,” he agreed.
“Why did Gamling not find a cart or carriage for you? You looked to have trouble staying upright when you came through the gates.”
He scoffed again. “Can you imagine? The king of the Horse lords riding in a carriage?” he said the last word as if it was a curse. “No, I would rather Firefoot bring me back tied to the saddle.”
“Your pride will be the death of you,” you chastised, although you felt an approaching grin at the thought of him riding in a frilly coach.
He became silent as you worked, his breathing evening out into deep inhales and exhales. You paused and peered over his shoulder to check on him. To your satisfaction, he had fallen asleep. He needed the rest.
You tied off the braid with a piece of string and pulled the blanket over his shoulder where it had fallen down. You leaned back on your chair, watching his breaths nervously for minutes that grew long.
A light knock sounded at the door, and when you told them to come in, Mathilde walked through the door with a bowl in her hand and a blanket folded over her other arm.
“Your Majesty, the healer is here,” she informed you. You smiled slightly in relief. “Good, please come in,” you invited them. An older woman came in after Mathilde with a heavy leather bag at her side.
You hurried to vacate your seat to get out of the way.
“Your Grace,” the older woman, who you recognized to be called Audrey, nodded to acknowledge you and you nodded back, opening your arm to invite her to look at him.
“You are most welcome here. Thank you for coming so quickly,” you told her.
“Of course, your majesty. I came as soon as I heard,” she said. She waltzed in and quickly took your spot on the wooden chair. Mathilde set the bowl on the small table next to the fire and began spreading the blanket out at the end of the bed.
Éomer still slept soundly, not disturbed at all by the newcomers. Although it had worried you at the beginning of your marriage, you had grown used to the way he slept like the dead. It took great effort to wake him before he was ready, yet he always woke up early on his own to get a start on his day.
You watched while wringing your hands as Audrey pulled out her tools and began the examination. She felt his forehead, hummed in thought, and then put her fingers to his neck to check for the speed of his heartbeat.
She hesitated and turned back to you. “I hate to wake him when he is resting, but might I do so to ask him a few questions?” she asked.
You nodded. “Do whatever needs to be done.”
“Thank you. Your majesty?” Audrey called, placing a hand on Éomer’s shoulder and shaking him slightly.
He did not stir, instead he breathed in so deep it nearly sounded like a snore. “Your majesty?” Audrey tried again.
You sighed fondly, walking over to the other side of the bed and kneeling on the mattress. “Éomer, dear. Wake up,” you said evenly, placing a hand on his cheek. You gently tapped him a couple times. “Get up,” you said again louder.
With a sharp inhale, Éomer blinked awake and looked blearily up at you.
You smiled at the innocent and confused look on his face.“The healer is here and she needs to take a look at you,” you explained, nodding to the older woman over his shoulder.
“Ah, my apologies,” he groaned, rolling onto his back. “I do not remember falling asleep.”
“No need to apologize, your Grace. I am sure you are wanting your rest, but I have a few things to ask you.”
Audrey asked Éomer about the state of his throat, his lungs, requested that he stick his tongue out, squeeze her hand, and even had him hum a little tune. She eventually nodded and began packing up.
“I believe I know what you have, your Majesty,” she said definitively.
You leaned forward where you had sat on the bed next to him. “What is it? Can it be cured?” you asked desperately.
“Oh quite easily,” she assured you. “King Éomer, you have a cold, probably brought on by the changing of the seasons. Drink plenty of liquids and get your rest. You will begin to feel better in a week or two,” she explained.
You and Éomer glanced at each other in surprise. “Are you quite sure?” Éomer asked, “I feel much worse than one would expect for just an ordinary cold.”
“I am quite sure,” Audrey assured him. “Fetch me if you fare any worse, but you will be just fine.”
“Thank you,” you told her, standing up and gesturing for Mathilde to show her out and give her coin for the trouble.
They exited the room and you spun back around to a stunned Éomer. “A cold,” he murmured. “I would have guessed I had a plague of some kind.”
“You are a giant child, King Éomer! All this moaning and griping over a cold,” you laughed, sitting back down beside him and kicking off your boots.
“I fear I have rather embarrassed myself in that aspect,” he groaned, covering his eyes with his hand as you laid beside him and tucked yourself under the covers.
“Rather thoroughly,” you agreed.
“Perhaps we could tell others that it is a Sweating Sickness, or some other sort of horror, and that my body is riddled with fever so as to not let anyone else in,” he suggested, only the smirk on his lips giving away his humor. His face was still pale and his eyes looked weary.
“Tell me plainly,” you teased. “Did you do all this just for a few days of peace? I am sure there have to be simpler ways.”
He laughed, wincing when the movement of air hurt his throat and lungs. “I am sure there are, and had I thought of them, could have enjoyed any of those other excuses far better,” he said.
“You do look in a bad way,” you admitted. “Very well, I suppose I shall still tend to you, even if it is a simple cold.” You kissed his cheek and settled your head onto his shoulder.
“You are a most devoted wife to take pity on me,” he hummed, leaning his head on yours.
Description: The journey home can be cold and long without a merry band of Rohirrim and your husband, Eomer, to lighten the darkness
Content Warnings: fluff! takes place a year after the war of the ring, nonsexual shedding of clothes, making fun of friends, SFW.
Author's note: Happy Fourth of July, here's a Lord of the Rings fanfic lol. So, a little explanation for this one. The characters that you see in this fic are taken from my (unfinished) story on AO3 since I just wanted to add a cozy dynamic between friends. You do NOT have to go read it if you don't want to since this can be read as a standalone (but it's linked in my LotR masterlist if you did want to read it)! I hope you enjoy the story!
The sound of hearty laughter rang throughout the camp. Men and women emboldened by the drinks in their hands let their joy ring like bells now that evil was vanquished and the world was slowly returning to how it should have been.
No more orcs roamed the lands of men and no more towers oppressed them from above. There were only kind kings and kinder peoples. Light had come creeping back into Rohan and you were glad for it. Happiness had returned and there was singing in the halls of their Lords once again.
The King’s escort held a camp of nearly 50 people, with the masses split up and by separate fires as they combated the cold, mid-autumn night. You were glad that your small company was managing to stay warm nearly by laughter alone, although the fire and drink helped tremendously.
Meat sizzled on the fire in front of your group. Éothain and Leofred, the king's fellow riders, sat across from you. The king's sister, Éowyn, and her husband, Faramir, sat in the circle as well. Sunniva and Estrild, Leofred’s wife, sat beside you as your friends and ladies maids.
Tomorrow, the entourage would embark on the last leg of your trip back home to Edoras, and spirits were high. The Rohirrim had been visiting King Aragorn in Gondor for the past few weeks for reasons of diplomacy as well as the friendship between kings. Although Aragorn was his loyal friend and he enjoyed the sights of the White City, Éomer was overjoyed to return home with his sister, who longed for the golden halls of Meduseld after looking on the silver of Minas Tirith for so long.
“Look at the stars, they are winking down at you, my love,” Faramir whispered to Éowyn, just barely loud enough for the group to hear. The other married men immediately scoffed goodnaturedly at his softness, despite each of them having said equally gentle things to their own wives. Éowyn’s pale cheeks turned pink at the pretty words her husband was attempting to string together for her.
“Alright, alright,” the king huffed, “You are no poet, my friend. My sister may entertain your words, but we should not have to endure them.”
The group shook with laughter, Éowyn most of all. Faramir gave an amiable shrug at his brother-in-law’s teasing with no regret in his heart. Yet, he did not argue that his words were any better than what the king made them out to be.
“Stop teasing them, Éomer, dear,” you said through your smile. Your husband turned to you, his yellow hair shining in the light of the fire and making it look like polished gold. “Not everyone can write songs as well as you. What is it again that you wrote at Pelennor? “Out of the doubt, out of the dark with the sun’s rising. I came… ugh, Bema,” you stalled, thinking over the words. “Leofred, how did it go?” you asked your friend, your memory utterly defeated.
He smirked, more than ready to answer, “Out of doubt, out of dark to the day's rising. I came singing in the sun, sword unsheathing,” he opened his mouth to continue, but Éomer cut him off with a gruff clearing of his throat and a look that would intimidate most of his men.
“If you know what is good for you, stop there,” Éomer warned. “Both of you,” he added, gently poking your side in the spot he knew would make you dissolve into laughter. “I know better than to tell my friend anything that my wife might mock me for,” he muttered. You let out a giggle at the ticklish feeling of his hand at your ribs, your breath leaving a white cloud hanging in the air. He laughed too as you squirmed and he pulled you to his side, tucking you in safely under his thick cloak that was lined in grey fur.
“I do not know which newlywed couple is more unbearable,” Estrild rolled her eyes, even as she grinned a little.
“Thank the Valar we were never like that,” Estrild noted.
“No, you were far worse,” Sunniva muttered, taking a long swig of her drink as she looked into the fire.
“We were not!” Estrild insisted, looking to her husband for confirmation, but he winced and she knew that her friend was right.
You felt warm fingers wrap around your icy ones. “Your hands are so cold,” Éomer hissed like a worried mother hen and brought your hands to his lips, huffing warm air onto them. The sensation made your skin tingle, but you did not pull away. Not when he was looking at you as if you were made of starlight.
“The food is done, my king,” Éothain said from across the fire, pulling everyone's attention away.
“Good man,” Éomer said, wrapping your warming hands into his and setting them on his leg. “Let us eat then.”
“Éothain, thank you for cooking the food, let another serve it,” Éowyn insisted.
“I do not mind, my lady,” Éothain insisted with a shrug.
“What a fine idea,” you nodded, getting up with Éowyn and pulling your hands out of Éomer's grasp, even as the cold set back into them.
Éothain backed away from the fire and roasting spit as Éowyn shooed him to go sit back down. You quickly gathered the plates and set about pulling the pot from the fire which held vegetables.
“Well, if the queen is working, then I would be a poor husband to sit idly by and watch,” Éomer nodded, standing up and pulling his cloak straight over his shoulders. “The fire is getting low, I will go find more fuel for it,” he announced and stepped over the small bench he had been sitting on.
“Do not wander too far,” you called worriedly, thinking of whatever leftover dregs of evil creatures that could still be lurking near the foot of the White Mountains.
“Yes, ma’am,” he called back with a proud tinge to his voice. He picked up a hatchet and carefully swung it over his shoulder before disappearing into the dark patch of woods.
“What is she worried over? Our king is the size of a bear and a war hero. I fear far more for whatever the man might stumble across,” Leofred teased, saying the joke to Faramir who laughed.
You cut him a nasty look. “I will fret if I see fit too. Bema knows how many situations you two have found yourselves in on the road. I did not complain then, and I will not now, but I have every reason to wish well for our king, and you would be a poor subject and poorer friend if you did not do so as well,” you corrected him. The slight smile playing on your lips told the group that you were not chastising your friend.
Estrild and Sunniva snickered at the retort, covering their mouths with their hands. “Of course, my queen. Forgive me,” Leofred said sincerely.
“I usually side with you, your grace, but I agree with Leofred on this one. My brother singlehandedly killed two oliphaunts at Pelennor Fields. I saw it with my own eyes. I trust he could face down the odd beast just fine on his own,” Éowyn said, a playful smirk on her lips.
“Éowyn!” you pretended to be offended. “I shall have you put in a cell as soon as we return home for this slight
“If he does not return, then I will put myself in one,” she amended.
The group laughed and cut up while you worked. Éowyn cut the meat as you prepared plates and delivered them to each of your companions, Éothain first.
By the time Éowyn was sitting back down with her food, Éomer was back with his arms full of dry sticks and cut logs of a felled tree his soldiers had found earlier in the day. You were relieved to have him back in your sights again. In moments like these, you were reminded of how dark the past days were and how anxiety for other’s wellbeing had become a constant companion to you.
“It seems you will not spend your first night back home in the dungeons after all,” you teased Éowyn.
Éomer’s forehead wrinkled in confusion as Éowyn barked a laugh. “Did Éowyn get into that much trouble while I was away?”
“Of a sort,” Faramir smiled knowingly.
You had just pulled out half of the spit from the hard ground with great exertion before Éomer’s return. Leofred offered to help you, but you had insisted on doing it yourself before accounting for the frozen ground. You were about to move to the other side when Éomer walked past the other half and, with little thought on the matter, pulled the iron spit out of the ground with a single, strong hand with ease.
Your eyes flew to his, even as your knees turned to jelly at the display of his strength.
“Thank you,” you murmured, standing up and pulling your cloak tightly around you so it did not get blown into the fire. “I was going to do that,” you uttered.
Éomer raised an amused eyebrow at your complaints, as he dropped the wood into a pile in the grass and bent down to add kindling to the fire. “And now you do not have to. Eat your supper,” he nodded to where Éowyn had set your plate. It was growing cold, so you relented and turned to go back to your seat.
The circle was mostly quiet as the people in it ate their suppers, thinking of the next night where they would get to feast like kings in the warm Hall of Meduseld. You looked forward to it as well, even though tonight was not so bad. Éomer sat back down at your side and his heat drew you in like a moth to a flickering flame. You tucked into his side, drawing from his warmth without words being exchanged. You both found your places beside each other as if it was practiced.
“I am afraid I will not last long upright if I stay up much longer,” Leofred admitted, breaking the comfortable silence as he put his empty plate down.
“Already?” Éomer asked, “the night is still young.”
“But I, my friend, am not,” Leofwine chuckled.
“Estrild, you will have to help your ailing husband to his cot before he keels over,” Éowyn teased.
Estrild placed her own empty plate down. “I am not much better for it,” she smiled, stretching her hands up into the night sky and standing with a hand from her husband.
“Goodnight,” you all called out to the retreating couple.
“I better go too,” Sunniva said, standing with stiff legs.
“I, as well,” Éothain nodded, shoveling the last of his food into his mouth.
“What? Why are our friends abandoning us?” you asked into the night.
“Perhaps they grow bored with us,” Éowyn agreed with you.
“That is not it,” Sunniva smiled at her two closest friends. “As if I could.”
“You will regret those words one day,” Faramir said, knowing how much trouble his wife and sister-in-law could get into.
“Never,” Sunniva doubled down as Éowyn elbowed Faramir for the insult.
“Goodnight,” you wished her and she said the same to you in return.
“Goodnight, your Grace, my King,” Éothain lowered his head to both you and Éomer in such a formal manner that you nearly laughed.
“Get out of here, Éothain. Sleep well, cousin,” Éomer chuckled, waving his uptight friend away. In the low light, you could see Éothain grinning lightly, a rare sight for the young man who had always been wound a little too tightly.
“That leaves just us then,” Faramir noted, taking a drink from his cup of ale.
“That leaves just you two,” Éomer corrected, standing and pulling you up with him.
“It does?” you asked, confused. You had wanted to stay a little longer.
“We have a long journey home tomorrow. We should all get our rest,” Éomer explained as he took your empty plate and stacked it with the others to be cleaned in the morning.
“You are a spoil sport, brother,” Éowyn complained.
“I am a soldier who has to be up at the rise of dawn,” he refuted.
“You are our King. You should sleep in as long as you wish,” you reminded him.
“Perhaps when we are old, but unlike Leofwine, we are not quite there yet,” he smiled, tugging you away to the largest tent covered in green and gold. “Goodnights” echoed in the darkness as they bade you a good night's rest and you did the same back to them.
“It is cold and growing colder still,” Éomer complained, holding the flap open for you to cross under. Even once you were inside the woolen tent, the frigid air still nipped at your skin. There were a few lanterns lit in the small space, giving the room a hazy glow. You were quick to peel off your cloak and your topdress, leaving a woolen tunic, your chemise, and various undergarments that you had stacked for warmth in this biting cold.
You paid no mind to Éomer who looked to be following a similar pattern, as you dove under the linens, wools, and furs that stacked the thin mattress afforded to the royal couple.
“Hurry,” you urged through chattering teeth.
“So impatient,” Éomer hummed, although you noticed the shaking of his hands and the way his jaw clenched to keep it from chattering.
“I am telling you to hurry, because someone placed a warming pan in the bed,” you laughed. “The chill is more than tolerable under here.”
Éomer’s eyebrows flew up and he quickened to shed his belt and topmost layer of clothes. He slipped under the covers and immediately sighed in relief.
“Thank the Valar,” he said under his breath, opening his arm to you and letting you burrow into his side. Your bones nearly melted at the feeling of finally being so warm and comfortable after hours of the growing cold.
“You should find out who gave us this gift and knight them,” you murmured into his shoulder, your eyes drifting closed at the cozy feeling overwhelming you.
“As soon as the sun rises, whatever they wish for is my command,” he promised, bringing his hand to your back and making soft circles with his thumb on your skin.
“I do not know who is luckier, us for getting warm, or them, who will get their wish granted over a simple warming pan.”
“Nothing simple about it, my love. This is worth all the coins in the treasury, to have you in my arms and warmth at my feet,” he said and you smiled, lips curling against his woolen shirt.
“Aye, nothing compares to this, at least not tonight. Ask me again under the warmth of the summer sun, and I might have a different answer,” you pointed out.
“By that time, you will be wishing desperately for a chip of ice and a fan to wave in your direction,” he teased.
“Do not even speak of ice or I will freeze all over again,” you muttered, “I can currently think of nothing I would want less.”
“Then sleep, wife,” Éomer urged. “Tomorrow we will be in front of the roaring hearths of Meduseld with barely a thought of the biting chill.”
“I can barely wait for it,” you sighted. You could hardly contain your excitement at the thought of cresting over the last hill on your steed and seeing the Golden Hall in all its glory. “Although, I did not mind the warmer climate of the south.”
“Aye, that is true,” Éomer nodded, his eyes growing heavy. “Autumn will be weeks yet away for the sparkling shores.”
You hummed in thought, the sunsoaked seaside sounding delightful to you. “In that case, I wish to go back to Gondor this very instant,” you teased, feeling a little delirious from sleeplessness.
Éomer’s chest rumbled with quiet laughter. “Of course. I will go where you lead, my Queen. Perhaps, when we get there, I will build you a cottage where we can live out the rest of our days avoiding winter and frolicking in the sand.”
You giggled at the thought of your husband building a sandcastle. “That sounds like a decent way for us to live out our days. Although… it is quite warm under here, maybe we should set off for the shore tomorrow instead.”
“I know that you jest, but know that Cook will likely skin us both if we do not attend the feast she has been planning since our departure.”
“Hmmm, good point. Upsetting that woman is not for the weak or the cowardly,” you mumbled, your words slurring. “Edoras it is then.”
“Edoras it is,” Éomer repeated fondly, noting the way your breathing slowly evened out.
Within moments, you would fade into a hardy and long sleep, safe in only arms that would never let go.
june !! the first few paragraphs had me in my feels 🥺 so beautifully written and captures the restoration of peace so well !! i literally felt joy rise up in me.
EEK the vibes are simply too good !!! the fluff was FLUFFY and the banter between friends was so entertaining and warm. so freaking cute and sweet !!!
i really liked this line:
“The other married men immediately scoffed goodnaturedly at his softness, despite each of them having said equally gentle things to their own wives.”
i’ve always known your attention to detail was phenomenal but your ability to produce such immersive fics for multiple fandoms is so impressive !!
and it must be nice to write about different kinds of clothing after all that avatar !!
Eeeeeeek!! Thank you so much bestie twosin!! Yes, it was actually the nicest thing in the world to imagine my characters and they all had pants on! You don’t value it enough until you’re in a pants-less fandom for so long.
