#bardfur

I also now have a Barduil & Bardfur sidestory in mind, set in the same verse. Amongst other future stories.

I began this fic verse for an exchange last year, but I've really come to love it, honestly.

The hobbit stood at the other end of the market was a mere shell of the one that had no more than five minutes ago been almost screaming into her face, eyes ablaze with frustration and rage. No, she was hollow; glazed over and devoid of anything. A statue in a red dress.

That was not Lobelia. That was something else.

And then the wind shifted. A lull in conversation allowed a handful of words to carry over to her open ears, and Dís heard.

“-unwanted there. How long until your parents have enough too, and then you’ll have no one-”

“Dís?”

Winnifred’s worried tone barely registered. The shock of that statement, said so plainly in public, before a bloody audience was so vile, so visceral…

“Why does no one speak up?” Dís questioned, her eyes never leaving Lobelia’s unmoving form.

“It’s…” Winnifred sighed. “It’s just not done.”

That wasn’t good enough.

That fact only intensified when Otho pushed off the barrel and took two sure steps towards Lobelia to lay a hand on her shoulder and – in a minute movement so small that had she not been openly gawking Dís would have missed entirely – Lobelia recoiled.

Dís stared.

Fjóla stared back.

“Fuck propriety,” she snarled.

Part 1 of my comic where Bofur and Bard cross paths  in the Appalachians in the 80s.

Here's another fic for the Writer’s Month 2021 challenge (see @writersmonth for more info). How about some fluffy Bardfur with a pinch of Metal AU?

I wrote this fic for @theresonlyzuul. If you want to know where I got my inspiration for the Metal AU, check out their art account @geetimesthree while you’re at it, you'll find lots of amazing art there, including Metal Bofur wearing pink Doc Martens 💕 Enjoy!

Today's prompt: word: cold | setting: coffeeshop AU

Fandom: The Hobbit Relationships: Bard x Bofur Warnings: some fluff and tons of delicious apple pie As usual, you can read this fic here and on AO3. * * *

Day 2: Warm

Bard was cold. Scratch that, he was freezing, and he had a feeling that his nose was just about to freeze off his face. That awful icy rain accompanied by chilling gusts of wind made him recall why late November was definitely not his favourite time of the year. In retrospect, sailing out to the lake on a day like this was not the cleverest of his ideas, but Sigrid was so excited about that new fish stew recipe she’d found somewhere on the Internet, he couldn’t say no to her. Unfortunately, the fish were equally fond of the weather as he was, and so Bard gave up in the early hours of the afternoon and docked at the pier empty-handed.

With a groan, he turned the collar of his jacket up against the wind and let his feet carry him to the place he’d usually stop by after a day at the lake. The sign above the entrance said Bombur’s Coffee Shop, but the truth was the place looked as if a heavy metal pub and a roadside diner had a love child. The owner baked mean apple pies though, and his cousin, Bifur, was an excellent barista. But that was not the reason, or at least not the main reason, why Bard would visit that place so often.

The interior was dimly lit, creating a cozy atmosphere. The mouth-watering smell of cinnamon and freshly baked pastries filled Bard’s nostrils as soon as he entered.

“Ahoy there!” a friendly voice called out from behind the bar.

“Hi, Bofur, what’s on the menu today?” Bard spoke, and then, as usual, cursed himself inwardly. That was it. The longest sentence he was able to speak to that brown-eyed man in his signature hat without awkwardly stumbling over the words.

“It seems like a proper slice of our apple pie straight from the oven with a generous dollop of whipped cream is what you are needin’ right now,” Bofur smiled widely, sending him a friendly wink. For Bard, on a day like this, that smile was like condensed sunshine, even though with that floppy-eared hat of his, tattoos, and a mandatory black t-shirt with a metal band logo Bofur looked more like a motorcycle gang member than a friendly neighborhood bartender.

“Sounds great,” Bard nodded and sat down at his usual place at the bar, earning a thumbs up from the aforementioned friendly neighborhood bartender who not only sported the most playful moustache in town, but also proudly wore the pinkest pair of Doc Martens he had ever seen. That was Bofur in a nutshell: like rum chocolate with raisins and nuts, each little chunk completely surprising. A much-needed spark of cheerful chaos in Bard’s orderly life. He grinned, but, yet again, there was no clever retort he could offer.

“We’ll have you warmed up in no time!” Bofur assured him and entered the kitchen door, “Oy! Bif! Come on here, Bard is in dire need of yer coffee!”

Of course you can! :D I'm assuming you mean within the metal AU?

-The family start a little vegetable garden in the back. Both him and the kids are covered in dirt at the end of it and he doesn't even mind. He hasn't felt this happy and laughed this much in years. Bofur just makes everything fun. -Even though she's not his biological daughter, Sigrid is the one who takes after Bofur musically and even "borrows" one of his guitars which just becomes her's permanently. She goes through a rebellious punk phase which adds another layer of grey hair to Bard's temple but teenagers gonna teenager.

-Bard is stressed because of work and time constraints. Bofur is stressed because of his neurodivergence. They both help each other with their concerns and are less stressed as a result. Much snuggling is had every night.

-Bard is SUPER protective of Bofur. Like, to the extent where he'll be mean to whoever is hurtful towards him. Bofur is cheerful and always sees the best in people, so there's always going to be people who try to take advantage of that and Bard sees through it. You know how snarky Bard is in the films? Imagine that tenfold when someone is shitty to people he loves.

-Bofur secretly cries when Sigrid leaves home for college. She takes the guitar with her.

-That blonde guy at Whole Foods keeps hitting on Bard until he sees the Bowman kissing a scruffy, dorky metalhead outside of work one day and he's horrified and storms off in a huff because HE'S rich and clean cut and how dare Bard prefer short, hairy men with funny hats. He takes it as a *personal* insult. (this one I stole from @alienfuckeronmain).

@nocompromise-noregrets @geetimesthree

It might be his neck, Bard though, watching Bofur bent over an old guitar, strumming along happily, lost to the world in the most beautiful way.

Of course, that thought led him to contemplate Bofur’s shoulders, round and full beneath the old t-shirt, and no less deserving of praise.

The mugs of tea grew cold in his hands as his eyes roamed Bofur’s back, journeying down his arms and taking a small mental detour to wonder whether he’d ever found someone’s elbows enticing before.

Bofur’s smoky voice filled the small bedroom with snatches of half-remembered lyrics, bits of disconnected poetry that settled in Bard’s soul like the caresses of tiny moth wings. His fingers moved with dexterousness Bard knew all too well; the guitar’s strings were not the only ones Bofur’s clever touch could make sing.

And yet his eyes returned to the space where Bofur’s hair parted, revealing pale kissable skin stretched over the first bump of his spine, perfectly revealed by the sectioned off braids; clearly the work of his youngest, but the pink butterfly hair tie contrasting the black shirt made no difference.

Moving further into the room he set the mugs on the nearest surface, forgetting their existence in the next moment.

Putting one knee on the bed, he smiled when Bofur continued to play, prowling towards his unwitting – or cooperating – prey on hands and knees.

Lips against the warm skin produced a single false note, but Bofur gamely continued playing for his pleasure.

Bard grinned.

“Sing for me,” he murmured, setting about finding the spots that would best interrupt the music.

“Yer a heap o trouble, Bard,” Bofur gasped at a particularly pleasant kiss.

“Sing,” Bard admonished, moving just far enough away that his breath would wash teasingly over Bofur’s neck.

Bofur sang, soft words made softer by sighs of pleasure until the clever fingers abandoned the guitar for other pursuits entirely.

 On the desk, two mugs steamed gently, cooling to the sound of sighs of pleasure.