barbasbodaciousbeard

[barbasbodaciousbeard]

All That Happened - two

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x OC

Gwen Brooks was paying for school by dancing at the club, and one night, Daryl Dixon found himself there trying to keep his brother in line. When her car won't start, the two find out they might just be the company the other needs.

“Hello?” Gwen answered her phone, cradling it between her cheek and shoulder as she carefully checked the cooling chocolate chip banana bread on her counter.

“‘S Daryl,” he said, and she could hear the shop sounds behind him.

“Hi Daryl,” she smiled softly. “How goes it?”

“It’s just the wiring. Redoing the hose too. Think I’m gonna check all the wirin’ and hoses. Do an oil change. It’s slow today.”

“Daryl, you ain’t-”

“I ain’t gotta do shit, girl. If I offer, I wanna.”

“Sorry. Worried you’ll get in trouble.”

“Ain’t gotta be. It’s my shop. Pop left it to me. Means I can call the shots. When you gotta drive?”

“I can get rides to work, and school is out for break until January. I ain’t got anything. Take your time.”

“Couple days, max. I’ll see y’tonight anyway. Merle, y’know.”

“Meet me for a smoke again. I still ain’t got a lighter.”

“Deal.” 

Gwen liked talking to Daryl. It hadn’t been much, but he looked her in the eye. He didn’t make her feel sexualized. And he knew about the club. She didn’t have anyone who did all three other than the girls she worked with, and with them, she felt bad being uncomfortable with the job. Some of the girls minded, but most of them didn’t. She’d been raised to wait until marriage, and there was a dichotomy between the personally virginal Gwen and the Gwen that learned how much money she could make here. It was nice to feel like what she did didn’t define her to someone. That night, she was happy to slip out the door when she saw Daryl slink out and leave his brother. 

Daryl hated to admit he was happy to see her follow behind him. She was young, pretty, and smart, and he needed to not delude himself into thinking she might want to be friends with a redneck piece of shit like him. Still, when he bought a pack, he made sure he had his lighter on hand, and he picked up a candy bar just in case she’d want it. It was anticipation more than craving that led him to lean against the wall at the side of the club. She came up from the back, smiling with the cigarette already between her lips. In one fluid motion, he clicked the lighter and held it up with his free hand blocking the wind as she lit up. 

“Thanks,” she grinned, exhaling slowly. “How was your day?”

“Normal,” he shrugged, pulling out the candy bar and offering it. She lit up and accepted it gladly.

“My guardian angel.”

“Weirdo.”

“You always answer with one word?”

“Not always.” There was that tug of his lip. He didn’t really look at her, but she’d only tease him for one thing at a time.

“Smart ass.”

“Whatcha in school for?”

“Elementary education. Wanna be a teacher.”

“You’ll be good at that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You’re sweet. Smart. Close to their size when ya ain’t in them shoes.”

“I’ll have you know the average child is under 5’2” so I’m taller.”

“Sure, princess.”

“You doin’ anything for the holiday?” Daryl stiffened at that.

“Don’t do that shit. You goin’ home?”

“They don’t talk to me because of all this,” she shrugged. It was quiet for a few minutes, and then she looked at him. “You wanna come over for Christmas? I like to cook. Could make hot chocolate and watch a movie.”

“What?”

“Nothin’. Nevermind. I’m not trying to be weird I just-” She was chewing her lip again when he looked at her. 

“Stop that. I ain’t ever done that Christmas shit. You sure you wanna do that with me?”

“I’m sure. I like being around you. You’re funny. And nice. And accepting. And a good guy.”

“Okay,” he said, nodding tightly. “We’ll do Christmas.”

“Really?” Shit. He was a goner. The way her eyes lit up made him have to work to suppress a smile. 

“Yeah. You old enough to drink?” The question sounded meaner than he meant for it to, but it didn’t phase her.

“I will be next month.”

“Shit. I could be your daddy, girl.” It took a concerted effort on her part not to make a joke that he ought to. She didn’t know if she’d want anything but a friend, and he felt pretty sure he wouldn’t want her.

“A young dad though.”

“Eighteen,” he shrugged. “You’re close enough I’ll still bring Wild Turkey for the eggnog.”

“So you do know that Christmas shit,” she teased, bumping his hip with hers. 

“Little brother, you got a sm– Oh, hello, blondie.”

Merle stumbled out, and before he could stumble towards Gwen, Daryl put himself between them. Merle stopped staring down at his brother. 

“I wasn’t talking to you, kid. You wouldn’t know what to do with her.”

“Merle, leave.”

“Darlina, let the lady decide.” Merle started to try and shove his way around Daryl, eyes narrowing on the little blonde with a thick flannel wrapped tight around what he knew was near nothing. His face hardened when Gwen’s hand went to Daryl’s bicep and she stepped closer to his back.

“Leave,” Daryl repeated, and he tried not to think about Gwen’s hip under his hand when he reached back.

“What kind of dick must little D be slingin’ for you to cling on ‘im like this?” A hand to his groin, adjusting himself as he stepped back with his eyes on her. “Ain’t got nothin’ on ol’ Merle. I’ll buy a turn then. Bought a turn with all the other whores in there.”

“I don’t do extras.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, and Daryl kept his hand on her. If he were to swing at Merle, it would cause more trouble. He wasn’t stupid. He’d stand his ground now. Watch her inside. Drive her home to make sure she was safe. 

“Leave her alone, Merle.” Gwen could look up at him and see the way Daryl’s jaw flexed and locked as he kept his stare trained on his brother. The weight of his hand high on her hip was comforting as she stayed close. It wasn’t like her how quickly she’d taken to Daryl, not anymore. Too many people had changed their minds about her.

“Fine,” he finally said, appraising his brother. “You can keep one piece o’ pussy to yourself. Just glad you finally got one. Y’know, my brother cried after I took him to a hooker the first time? Said he didn’t like it. Easy pussy and he didn’t like it.”

“Just go in.”

“Fine. I’ll see you back home, Darlina.” When he slammed through the door, Gwen looked up at Daryl with wide eyes. She didn’t like the way that ended, not because of any offense but because she didn’t like the picture it painted of Daryl’s home life. Add it to the fact he’d never done a holiday, and she thought he was much more used to being hurt and alone than she was.

“Thank you,” she whispered, and suddenly his hand jerked off of her hip.

“‘S fine,” he shrugged, stepping away to give them space again. He hadn’t liked that night, and it still felt too fresh and familiar. He was only fifteen, and he still had hope one day somebody’d be kissing him because they wanted to and he wanted them to. The whole process was mechanical and uncomfortable and a reminder he wouldn’t get those happy experiences he’d seen when he snuck into movie theaters. He didn’t want Gwen to know about that.

“Come to the back in an hour. I’ll be leavin’ and I brought you a present.”

“You ain’t gotta do that.”

“Too bad. Tell Ronnie I said to come. It’ll remind him.”

That found Daryl outside the dressing room, steadfastly focusing on the floor as he waited. When Gwen opened the dressing room door with her bag on her shoulder and clad in flannel and denim, he thought she looked more like herself this way. She held out a tinfoil-wrapped item.

“Chocolate chip banana bread,” she smiled. “Thanks for yesterday. And today.”

“You ain’t had to do that, girl.” He wasn’t sure anyone had ever baked for him before. It made him give a hint of a smile as he took it. “C’mon. You’re getting a ride home.”

“You ain’t-” A lifted brow from him. “Thank you.”

That found him parked outside her place again, and he’d made her stay while he tore off some of the loaf and dropped it in his mouth. 

“That’s real good.”

“Ain’t it? Wanted to do something for ya.”

“I ain’t done nothin’.”

“You have.”

“It’s just the right thing. Yesterday and today. All that happened.”

“It’s kind, Daryl,” she said softly, stretching across the truck cab and pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

“Ain’t like seeing anybody picked on. All that happened,” he said, cheeks flushed red as he watched her walk up the walkway.

#daryl dixon x oc #daryl dixon x reader #twd fanfiction

[barbasbodaciousbeard]

All That Happened

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x OC

Gwen Brooks was paying for school by dancing at the club, and one night, Daryl Dixon found himself there trying to keep his brother in line. When her car won't start, the two find out they might just be the company the other needs.

“You got a lighter?”

Daryl turned to look at the little blonde dancer his brother had been harassing standing beside him with an unlit cigarette between her lips. She looked so young and so tired as she took the offered plastic bic.

“Thanks,” she murmured, lighting up and leaning back against the wall. The thick jacket was wrapped around her frame, and he thought she looked much less content with being here than her coworkers did.

“You ain’t cold?”

“Am. But ain’t out here long.”

“Sorry ‘bout my brother.”

“He ain’t the only creep.”

“Still.”

“Thanks,” she finally said after a long pause. “You don’t seem like ya like being here.”

“Don’t.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Merle. Make him act better.”

“That’s better?”

“You new?” She nodded. “Don’t go near him.”

“You tellin’ me what to do now? I work here.”

“He don’t go to the back rooms and he don’t tip good. You ain’t got tracks. That’s what he tips with.”

“Oh.”

“Name’s Daryl.”

“Gwen.”

“Thought it was Ruby.” Gwen almost thought he was smirking as he ground the cigarette butt into the asphalt.

“Don’t tell.” She was smiling up at him now, and he suddenly realized she was definitely half of his age.

“Won’t tell.”

“See you in there?”

“Til Merle’s ready to go.” She nodded, and he went back into the club, dropping into the seat at Merle’s table. He already regretted coming back in, and when he saw Gwen on the floor, Daryl looked away. She thought that would bother her more, but he avoided looking at most of the dancers anywhere but the eyes. Merle was still there when her shift ended, and Gwen changed into jeans and an old flannel when the time came to go to her car.

When she tried to start the car, it didn’t, and immediately panic set in. She tried again and again, her hands coming down on the steering wheel again and again when she realized it wouldn’t start. It was the last straw of a long day. Her final in her science class hadn’t gone well that day, and then the way Daryl’s brother had cornered her earlier had shaken her. She hadn’t been working at the strip club long, and she’d been sheltered from the worst of the creeps. Alice had been gone that night, and that gave time for Merle to catch her in a corner. All she wanted was to go home and rest. It didn’t help that this would be her first Christmas without her family.

Her father was a pastor, and a parishioner had come into the club and told him how she was playing for school now. He was already not happy she was in school at all. She’d been raised in a loving but traditional family. Instead of being proud she was getting a degree, her father was disappointed she wasn’t more focused on starting a family and settling down. To him, a degree was a waste because she wouldn’t be looking for jobs. And now that he knew about the club, he didn’t even speak to her. The car refusing to start was the final straw, and she started to cry, hard heaving sobs that made her forget the window was still cracked.

“This cause of Merle?” asked a gruff voice from outside her window. She didn’t answer, but she did look towards him and started trying to breathe and calm herself. Daryl wasn’t good at this. Any of it. He didn’t like talking to strangers or risking making women feel uncomfortable, but she was so obviously hurting. Daryl knew what it was like to have everything go wrong in a day, and he didn’t know if she had anyone. He knew even better what it was like to feel everything was going wrong and not have anyone to tell. “I’m gonna open this door, okay?”

He opened the car door, kneeling. Wasn’t that what you did to make people feel more comfortable? He was careful to not box her in. She could push him over, and he thought that should be good. Should make her feel safe. He hoped he was right. Gwen was taking deep practiced breaths now.

“That’s it, girl. Breathe.”

“Sorry,” she managed to choke out.

“Ain’t got shit to be sorry for.” She was embarrassed, looking at the edge of her door and worrying her lip with her teeth. “Car ain’t startin’?”

“That’s the latest.”

“Good thing ‘m a mechanic. Try and start it.” It just clicked, and he nodded before reaching by her leg and popping the hood. She stared where she knew he was as though she could see him through the open hood. He came back around and dropped down again.

“How bad is it, doc?” He huffed what she decided to believe was a laugh.

“Wiring probably just ain’t good on the starter. Coolant hose might be bad and have dripped into it. Can fix either one. Got one of these out back at the shop I can the part from.”

“How much that gonna run me?”

“Labor’s free. Part’s free. Tow’s gonna be free.”

“That’s so much,” Gwen said softly. “You ain’t gotta do that. I can figure something out.”

“No. It’s free. You pay me and next time ‘m here, you’ll get it back.”

“Can I make ya banana bread?” That huff was definitely a laugh.

“Y’can make me banana bread. Merle left. You need a ride home?”

“I can walk. You ain’t-” He lifted a brow, and she turned pink. “I need a ride.”

“Atta girl. C’mon.”

She got her bags out of the car, loading them into his truck. Her keychain had a Georgia State University logo, and the little drawstring bag that had her cash from the night was one of those bags people gave away for free. He couldn’t read well, but elementary stood out under the same logo. Was she going to be a teacher?

“Thanks, Daryl,” she said softly.

“Ain’t a problem. My guy’s gonna tow it in the mornin’. I’ll call ya when I know what’s happening. Come get y’when it’s ready.”

It was quiet as they drove, and when they parked outside her house, she wrote down her number, handing it to him with her address. Daryl froze when she hugged him before getting out of the car.

“I’ll see you when it’s ready. Thanks for bein’ my hero tonight.” He huffed and she swore his cheeks turned pink.

“Ain’t an asshole. All that happened.”

#daryl dixon x oc #daryl dixon x reader #twd

[barbasbodaciousbeard]

Can I ask you a question? Ch 1

“Can I ask you a question, Mr. Holmes?”

Poppy Watson sat across from Mycroft Holmes in his office, and the frown etched into delicate features said she did not appreciate the way a sleek black car had picked her up on the way to the fabric shop. She did not like that a strange woman knew her name and assured her it didn’t pertain to the husband in Poland on an archaeological dig. Sure, it was an assurance he was safe, but she’d moved into 221C and been told by her husband’s cousin Sherlock Holmes’ brother was sure to pull something like this.

“Of course, Mrs. Watson.”

The smile was genteel. There was a certain venom under it, but one that carried little weight. John and Sherlock had never told her the details of what happened at Sherrinford, but she knew whatever it was enough that John Watson had felt it needed to confess feelings for Sherlock and talked about it with the same steeling of his jaw that told her the conversation was over. She also knew that it centered around secrets from Mycroft Holmes that meant his parents no longer spoke to him outside of visits to a mysterious sister, though Sherlock insisted that would change. But now, his big brother wasn’t asking for his whereabouts to be tracked; Mycroft Holmes wanted to know Sherlock’s moods and growth into fatherhood.

“Have you tried calling your brother to ask how his week has been?”

Mycroft blinked for a moment before his posture returned. It was like the very idea was antithetical. Maybe it was because she’d only known the younger Holmes as a neighbor and in-law, one who saw him holding a crying little girl and pulling faces to get her to laugh.

“My brother, I’m afraid, has viewed me as the enemy his entire adult life. If I were to begin calling to,” a strained smile, “chat he would suspect I’m up to something."

“He knows you aren’t as strong as you’d like to think,” she said plainly, and her voice had the same intonation she’d heard it said into a phone in the kitchen when Sherlock spoke to his mother or Gregory Lestrade.

“Do you consider that a compliment?” he asked with a look of distaste.

“I suppose I do, Mr. Holmes. It means he knows you’re someone under all of this.” Poppy gave a dismissive wave at his office.

“The sentiment is fine, I suppose, but I’d encourage you to keep superfluous thoughts like that inside that pretty little head.”

“You think my head’s pretty?” His nose scrunched at her playful lilt before he rolled his eyes.

“Objectively, I suppose.”

“Mr. Holmes, this is an elaborate rouse to have meetings with me.”

“You are a married woman, Mrs. Watson.”

“You’re no fun.”

“Besides, what makes you assume we’ll have meetings?”

“I think you want company more than you’ll admit, Mr. Holmes.” She stood, smoothing the silky fabric of her flowing dress before tucking a handbag in the crook of her elbow. “I’ll see you out,” he said stiffly, and he did not like the way she rolled her eyes.

“Will this car take me back to the shop I was at? I have a commission.”

“Commission?” he asked, feigning surprise. “An artist?”

“Mr. Holmes, your omnipresent eyes have been outed. What don’t you know?”

“I’ve not looked at your medical records. Quilting. Quite antiquated, but a beautiful art. Your husband Rob is abroad in Poland leading graduate students at a dig site for the summer, leaving his wife to move into 221C until he can arrive and help her find a place to live. Would you like me to look into him, Mrs. Watson?”

Now it was her turn to tense, jaw steeling as she looked ahead. Sherlock had asked her it too, referencing the graduate students more directly. Hours were suddenly longer when he was in the same city, and he always came home smelling of merlot and someone else’s perfume. Poppy was still deciding what she wanted to do about it. She made enough money selling hand-stitched quilts and creating patterns and selling supplies. Internet commerce was her savior, as were galleries that accept textile art. But to leave her husband when she lived in a new country? When she looked up at Mycroft Holmes, the stories she’d heard had her expecting to see a smug satisfaction, but his gaze was softer than she expected, and it was soft in a way that made her suspect he had already looked into it.

“I don’t,” she said softly, reaching and giving his bicep a grateful squeeze. He looked at her hand and then to her face, the most dignified look of bewilderment she’d ever seen plastered on his face. “I have my suspicions. I wish to remain blissfully ignorant until I can’t anymore.”

“You know the reality. That is compartmentalization, not ignorance. If it ever comes to it, I will do everything within my power to assure you can stay in the country.”

“Is that sentiment or compassion, Mr. Holmes?” she asked with a gentle smile.

“Don’t strain my kindness,” he said, rolling his eyes now.

“I’ll see you when you decide it’s time for our next meeting.”

“I will call, Mrs. Watson.”

“You will pick me up, Mr. Holmes.”

“I do not need company.”

“Then you will not receive updates.”

“Whatever you say, Mrs. Watson.”

#bbc sherlock #mycroft holmes x reader #mycroft holmes fanfiction #mycroft x oc

[barbasbodaciousbeard]

if i ever tag a post w a character/couple that doest make sense just know that i have a rich inner world you could never hope to understand

[barbasbodaciousbeard]

neck kissing is honestly the hottest, most seductive thing anybody could ever do to me. if you kiss my neck, if you playfully bite my neck, if your tongue touches my neck i will melt in your fingertips.

[barbasbodaciousbeard]

i like the concept of soulmates—not a “you’re destined to meet me, and love me” kind of soulmate, but a “i’d pick you, every time.” kind of soulmate. a “no matter what happens, and what has happened, i want to go through it with you.” kind of soulmate. a “i love you by choice, and you’re a blessing, and i’m going to continue thinking about you this way not because i have to but because i want to.” kind of soulmate. a “you help me rest easy when everything is difficult” kind of soulmate. a “in every possible outcome, i want you there, to share it with me.” kind of soulmate.

[barbasbodaciousbeard]

I dont know what it is about it, but the idea of feeling myself get spread open and inspected.... is good

[barbasbodaciousbeard]

still my favourite bit, was gonna gif but honestly you need to watch it

[barbasbodaciousbeard]

[barbasbodaciousbeard]

Allegedly

Finally posting in the Hallelujah verse again, specifically messing with Richard Wheatley plot. Continuity is probably wrong but shhhh.

One., Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven

Because You Don’t Have to do This Alone (What if Rafael Answered the phone? AU) Miami (Jumpin’ the shark)

“Papi,” Catalina squealed when Rafael came in the door. He was taking more defense work now, and Rebecca could see that she wouldn’t like what he had to say. His brow was firm, and he kissed the top of Cat’s head before setting her down and patting her back. 

“Hi, Mija,” he smiled softly. “Papi can come play in a minute, okay? Why don’t you go put your blocks away while I talk to mami?”

“Okay!” Rebecca furrowed her brow, arms crossed as she watched him. She knew this look. Sure, it was like a dog with its tail between its legs, but it was also Rafael about to tell her something she didn’t like but had to deal with.

“Hey, Raf,” she smiled softly, kissing him. 

“Hola, mi corazón,” he hummed, arms crossed before leaning back against his desk. Oh god, this was attorney Rafael.

“Out with it.” 

“¿Qué quieres decir cariño?”

“Stop,” she sighed, lifting her brow and letting her hands rest on his chest. With a gentle pat, she pushed away. “You’re speaking exclusively Spanish and have puppy eyes. You know I’m about to be mad at you, and I want to know why.”

“I’m defending Richard Wheatley.”

“Richard Wheatley?”

“Yes.”

“Is your client?”

“Yes.”

“The man who killed–”

“Allegedly.”

“Killed Elliot Stabler’s wife. You do know that is the end of your friendship with Olivia Benson, right? From what you’ve told me, she will always choose him.”

“And that’s the problem, Becs! Procedure is going out the window. They cherry-picked this charge with hardly anything to go on. And if it isn’t me, the defense will destroy Olivia. Her career will be over. I agree he should be tried, but he needs to be tried fairly.”

“You’re going to do what you’re going to do.”

“Becs, if they had a fair case, I wouldn’t. But they don’t. It’s a mockery. And I’ll be able to shield my friend. Besides, this fee? We could put it into the bank and never worry about paying for college.”

“You’re doing this for a fee?”

“Can’t it be all three? They didn’t hold up their end of the bargain, I can defend my friend, and this fee will pay my child’s college tuition one day.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose, and when she looked up, she realized he looked almost afraid of what she’d say next. He had every right to take on even the worst person, and he knew enough to know if the NYPD had cut corners. 

“I won’t pretend I like it,” she said plainly. “But I’ll always be here, okay? Even if I wish you’d decided on teaching.”

“Yeah, well,” he chuckled lowly. “Doesn’t beat the thrill of the courtroom.”

“You do love it.” He wrapped his arms around her waist, pressing his forehead to hers. 

“I love you and Cat much, much more. You know that?”

“I do.”

“I’ll set firm boundaries. I’ll come to dinner every night. I’ll cuddle up to you and do that thing you like….”

“You’re not in the dog house,” she teased, and Rafael was relieved to see she was smiling. She was displeased, but she understood. “You don’t have to suck up.”

“All the things I listed benefit me, Becs,” he teased, squeezing her ass before they went towards the kitchen.

“We just got through that without fighting. I think that’s growth.”

“Look at us,” he smiled, lifting Catalina smoothly. The little girl settled her knee on either side of her father’s torso, grabbing his face. 

“Excuse me, papi, it’s my turn for attention.” Rafael’s laugh was loud as he nodded. 

“Fair enough, mija. How was school?”

“Fun. I miss being home with you. Pre-K has been cool, but it’s not the same.”

“I miss it, too. I like court, but it’s not as cool as hanging out with you.”

He liked the opportunity to be around grown-ups every day. Having an office again gave a good separation now that he exclusively took defense work. That said, he missed sitting at his desk, Catalina setting up in the room with him. There were no more tea parties, the ones he’d never admit to where Catalina gave him a plastic cup of water and made him wear her plastic jewelry. That was much better than meetings and assistants and never stopping. He’d missed a lot, but the glorious eight months where he decided if he was going to teach or practice let him feel he’d caught up. He’d spend four of the five working days with his daughter. Only one or two days a week saw them separated, and Rebecca had teased him when he called her, worrying Catalina wasn’t okay at school. She’d cried on her first day, telling her teacher she wanted to keep staying home with papi. He’d cried at work, telling Rebecca he wanted to be home with Catalina from a bathroom in the shiny new firm. 

“Come with me to the precinct tomorrow?” He’d asked that night, nose in her hair.

“Sweetheart, I have three more school days.”

“Worth a shot.”

“You’ve got to tell her yourself.”

“I just like the idea of leaving, and you’re there to roll your eyes and take me to Starbucks.”

“That makes it sound like I don’t think your feelings are valid.”

“You do. You also don’t let me pretend these situations aren’t my own design.”

“Keep showing this growth and communication, and we’ll have to practice again for another baby.”

“Don’t tempt me, amor.”

He took Catalina to school himself the following day. Sometimes, there wasn’t time, but today he would take an uber to the precinct before going to his office, so he decided a later start would be okay. He liked holding her hand and walking to the door with her. She’d picked his shirt that day. Daddy! Wear blue like my dress. He obliged. Catalina often picked the colors of his clothes now. Rafael had started asking her to when he’d felt almost invincible every time he saw the pink dots of the first tie she’d picked on a hard day. He was tired, and when he saw it, he could hear Catalina. It matches the flowers in my window, papi! That was all it took to bring him back to center, keep him from over caffeinating and lashing out like he would have when he was an ADA.

“Papi, can we get hot chocolate?” she asked with big eyes as he stopped at the coffee cart. He lifted a brow and looked at the vendor, grateful when he nodded. 

“Of course, mija,” he smiled, motioning for him to keep the change. “Are you cold?”

“It’s cold, but I just want to have a drink too!”

“You do?” he laughed, adding cream to cool it enough for her to sip. He’d learned his lesson in a Starbucks weeks ago.

“Yeah, just like you!” 

He was glad the cup was in Cat’s hand because the affection and contentedness hit him like a punch in the gut, and he had to brace himself. The fact his daughter loved him and wanted him around was one thing. The implication she wanted to be like him had him lean down, wrapping her in a hug, pressing a kiss to her temple. It also made him feel guilty for taking Wheatley’s case, no matter the reason. If Catalina knew, she wouldn’t be proud, would she? The same for when she learned about the Householder case. Or why papi wasn’t there at first. But right now, standing on the street, she wanted to be like her papi, and he decided that if Wheatley needed an attorney again, he wouldn’t touch the case.

“I love you, mija.”

“I love you too, papi.”

He offered her his hand again, and Cat took it, her hot chocolate in her other hand. Each time he sipped his own coffee, Catalina took a sip of hers. He was grateful for this morning. First, he’d tell Wheatley he would represent him, then he’d go to talk to Liv. He didn’t want to. He wished he could take the case and not have to deal with the ramifications or somehow beam an understanding of why he took the case into her mind. It didn’t feel as foreign to walk Catalina to her classroom. She held out her empty cup, and he took it, kneeling in front of her.

“Have a good day, Cat,” he grinned, and she kissed his cheek.

“You too, daddy. Tell Noah’s mama I said hi.” He hugged her, choosing not to acknowledge the upcoming meeting. Once she was with her friends, he made his way out carefully. The precinct was just as painful as he expected. Seeing Elliot face to face certainly didn’t help. He was blinded by grief, and Olivia was overwhelmed by her loyalty to her partner. Rafael couldn’t pretend to blame Stabler. If someone had killed Rebecca, he couldn’t fathom what he would do. It would be dark, impulsive, and reckless, especially if Catalina were an adult. He stood outside, fumbling with his phone, firing off a text.

Do you have lunch duty?

Not today. Need me?

If you can.

If you come straight here, you could get a visitor’s pass and have lunch with me.

Deal.

Rafael waved down a cab; it would be faster than an Uber. Rebecca called the office to let them know Rafael would be getting a visitor’s pass. Meredith, the grandmotherly secretary, made her delight to meet the mysterious Rafael apparent. In fact, Rebecca knew he was there when she’d gotten the students to lunch and answered her ringing classroom phone.

“He’s handsome,” Meredith cooed.

“Are you doing this in front of him, or does he get to think you’re not?”

“He’s filling out the form, don’t worry. Say hi to your girlfriend.” Meredith angled the speaker to the man, who sighed and said a gentle hello. Rafael’s cheeks were a deep red as he placed the sticker on his chest.

“Thanks for the heads up.”

“He’s well dressed too. And polite. I like him.”

“I’m glad to hear he has your approval,” Rebecca chuckled, leaning against her open door frame so she could watch to see him turn the corner. She gave him a wave, mouthing an apology.

“Enjoy your cute little date.” Rebecca rolled her eyes as she hung up, kissing Rafael softly.

“You charmed Meredith.”

“Would you have run off if I didn’t?” he chuckled, setting a bag of Chinese takeout on Rebecca’s desk. 

“You brought lunch, so nah. How’s the trial starting?”

“Liv doesn’t understand,” he said softly, chewing as he looked out the classroom window. “Between how blinded she was by Elliot and the NYPD’s missteps, she hates me, Becs.”

“He did try to kill her.”

“Allegedly.”

“He allegedly tried to kill her.”

“And if I don’t take this case? Another defense attorney desperate to discredit Elliot? Desperate to discredit her? They’d insinuate the most salacious, tawdry-”

“I know, Raf. But, protecting her may not end up how you want. Because it also means protecting someone who hurt her. This is going to end your friendship.”

His brow furrowed as he set his mouth into a straight line and scrubbed a hand over his jaw. He didn’t think to sit on Rebecca’s desk or in the rocking chair set up on a carpet. Instead, he dropped into the nearest chair. It was small, made of green plastic, and she’d have laughed at him if he didn’t look so wholly miserable.

“Am I a bad person? For doing this?”

‘You know as well as I do it’s not black and white.” She dropped to kneel beside him, and when she hugged him, he let her pull him from the terrible plastic chair, falling to sit on the floor as she held him. He didn’t like feeling small for something he’d chosen but still believed he was right. Even Wheatley deserved a fair trial and representation. If he could defend Olivia and provide for his daughter while providing that, he would. That didn’t stop him from letting Rebecca hold him near, his torso across her lap and head on her chest as she smoothed his hair.

“Do you ever feel like this?” He asked gently, looking up at her.

“A little,” she murmured, kissing his temple. “When the neglected or abused students come through, I have to focus on making them achieve academically instead of just being there for them. And when I was pregnant, I always wondered if it was fair to Cat. We were lucky and had the apartment after mom died. But I wondered if it was fair to her or you. Then defending you when people would try to say it was good I had her alone. I think you just want good to be more definable. Not to hurt anyone good. But good can be just as painful as bad.”

“I’m supposed to be the wise one here. Something about age and wisdom.”

“You’re just a different wise. And you’re finally okay.”

“I don’t want to go to the office.”

“You have to.”

“I’m taking Friday off. That’ll be my remote day.”

“That’s not an off day. You'll still work.”

“But I’ll be able to play hooky. At least a little.”

“Mr. Never missed a day in my life is playing hooky?”

“You could join me. Stay in bed all day. I’ll bring you breakfast in bed.”

“Friday is the class winter holiday party, mister. And last day before break.”

“Need any volunteers? Can the teacher’s fiance help?” He’d let himself relax now, and though his back would regret it, he found himself laying with his head on her lap on the reading carpet where they’d settled.

“If Meredith gives you another pass.”

“She called me handsome, well dressed, and polite. I think I can swing it.”

“Would you even come in for decorating?”

“Of course. Plus, it’s a half-day for you. We’d already promised mami she could spend the afternoon with Cat. What if I take you to lunch? But somewhere nice. Not just grabbing something.”

“I’d like that a lot, Raf,” she said softly. “Thank you.”

“Thank you. I’m grounded now. I’ll never stop thanking you for that.”

#rafael barba #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba x oc #SVU fanfiction #writing

[barbasbodaciousbeard]

are you as amused by jordan peterson getting bullied off twitter for not appreciating hot women as i am

We are slowly working our way down the list of twitter chuds. We should pick an easy one next. I vote Crowder.

[barbasbodaciousbeard]

She may have even liked him then

it’s me, writing my twice yearly burst of inspiration

“There was damage to his temporal and frontal lobe. Given the trajectory of the bullet, that’s to be expected.”

“Doctor, Frederick is here as well. You’re telling us both.” She was still holding Frederick’s hand tightly. In the days since he’d woken, they’d quickly come to realize some things weren’t right, but that was to be expected. The damage to his brain was concentrated on his temporal, but Broca’s area was on the left side and had taken damage. From all of it, the most glaring issue was aphasia. Damage to Broca’s area meant Broca’s aphasia. Between their options, she was glad it was Broca’s because he could express something. Wernicke’s aphasia was more likely to make Frederick say sentences with perfect cadence, and he’d be certain they came out correctly. What they would hear would be nonsensical. Frederick could speak, but there were no complete sentences. Only words strung together that Beatrice was grateful made sense.

Frederick squeezed her hand gently, and she brushed her thumb over the back of his hand. He was still just as intelligent as before, and he felt paralyzed without the ability to communicate as he always had. He’d written Beatrice a letter the second day, but it was a jumbled mess he’d come to learn. His sentences were rarely complete, his handwriting shaky, and his grammar non-existent. He was lucky, however, he could still form words, no matter how simple his phrases. Reading was difficult, and he knew the doctor was focusing on Beatrice’s understanding because he missed things on occasion—or maybe he simply didn’t comprehend. As a man who relied on words to feel superior and that superiority to give him worth, Frederick Chilton felt small and afraid since waking, and Beatrice had not expected the result to be him clinging to her more fiercely. 

“Of course, yes,” the doctor nodded. “We’ll be monitoring for temporal lobe seizures. You’ve had at least two, as we’ve told Miss Viotto. An aura precedes them, in your case both times it was unprovoked fear, something difficult to differentiate from the understandable fear that is a part of your experience. In each seizure, symptoms lasted thirty to sixty seconds, and Dr. Chilton lost awareness of his surroundings and stared into the distance. Swallowing and chewing are common movements. After, you won’t recall what’s happened. You may be confused, unaware, and exhausted.”

“So that’s what happened the first day?”

“Tell didn’t.” His words were still malformed by his missing palate, but Beatrice simply smoothed a hand over his hair gently.

“I didn’t know it was of note, Frederick.”

“Doctor tell.” The pauses between statements were longer, but she was just pleased there was something. 

“He asked!”

“Rude.” 

Beatrice was just glad to see him roll his eye and look at her with such annoyance. It was such a Frederick look coupled with a huff, and she’d been so afraid he’d never be annoyed with her again. 

“There’s also emotional behavior. Between the temporal damage and processing issues, there may be anger or aggression.” A pointed look to the sulking Frederick as though this were an explanation. Beatrice was unable to stifle a soft laugh, and Frederick softened when her hand found his. 

“He’s always like this.”

“Well, soon enough they’ll come to be sure removing the gauze and bandages today is possible. If so, Miss Viotto has convinced us to let you go home with the promise of daily visits from a home health aide to ensure your wounds heal well enough to begin using the prosthetic soon.

“Home,” he said, looking at her with wide eyes. She knew he’d feel far less overwhelmed in her loft, a familiar place. One that wouldn’t be buzzing with people. His selective attention and hearing had both taken hits, but he refused to mention either. It was difficult for him to focus on just conversation with the ever present din of the hospital. It made him frustrated every time he missed what Beatrice or a nurse or a doctor was saying because things had gotten loud. 

When a nurse came in to remove the gauze, he realized he’d yet to see his face. He was afraid to, in part because Beatrice hadn’t looked at him any differently. The removal hurt more today because he’d chosen to lower his dose of pain killers. His little sister was addicted, and it was something he feared more than the pain of gauze pulling healing flesh. Beatrice, ever patient, smoothed a hand over his forearm, and soon enough a doctor was peering into the hollowness of the left side of his palate. When he was declared healed enough to go home, he could have cried. Beatrice had taken care to find speech language pathologists who would come to the loft. She’d also ensured an outfit was ready for him in the hospital room’s closet from the first day. 

He saw his face unbandaged for the first time, and Beatrice was careful to perch on the side of the bed, not telling him anything. She knew well enough he needed to process, and he simply placed the mirror down. The familiar panic that has struck him from time to time welled in his chest. There was no denying something was wrong; the swelling was still present, but it had gone down enough the weight of his cheek sank. Without bone to support it, it pulled at his lower lid, and he suspected the effect would be worse when the swelling ceased. He looked to Beatrice, and the way she looked at him almost made him angry. Why was she pretending nothing had happened? He could try to argue, but the words wouldn’t come and it would tumble out short and disoriented. 

“Hideous.” A finger pointing at his own visage. Gentle fury simmered beneath the words, as though she should’ve prepared him. 

“No, not at all.”

“Stupid.” The same finger jabbed towards her. She rolled her eyes at him, not daring to speak. He would, she rather hoped, find a way to cope with this, and she was fairly certain all the reassurances she offered would lose their effect as time wore on. Instead, she saved them.

His head fell back to the pillow, and he didn’t look to Beatrice or the nurse. They hadn’t let him hold the mirror or he’d break it. It was going to only be insult to injury when it was time to dress. Though he’d regain it upon physical and occupational therapy, his hands couldn’t quite fumble with buttons. His grip on pens was loose. He tried not to seem as annoyed as he was when she brought his clothes to him once he’d been cleared to come home. It was more vulnerable to be naked in front of her when he felt so isolated even with her there. She saved him the indignity of dressing him entirely herself. It took some effort to keep the button down in his hands, but he got it on, and his annoyance changed to gratitude as her hands gently buttoned his shirt. There was no rush or annoyance in her movements. Just patience and affection. He got his sweater on, and she helped him right his jeans and belt. 

“See? You’re mostly fine. I can help with the fine motor stuff,” she smiled up at him when he was standing again. It was his face, so she knew he’d consider it a heinous maiming, the worst change that could happen. Beatrice just saw it as a change. He was still handsome, even if it had taken a few changing of bandages for her to stop noticing the way his cheek sank. Now she was used to it, and she thought that now, especially with Frederick dressed, only the eye patch, sagging of his cheek, and bullet hole were different. He was still Frederick and she still thought him handsome, and no matter what had happened, she was just grateful he was there. No matter the damage, she could look at him and know he was alive and breathing and here. Soon enough he’d have a prosthetic and she thought that would make him feel more himself.

“Home go.” Words never came in the right order, but this time his tone was gentle instead of embarrassed. 

“We’ll go home,” she smiled, and his hand came to cup her cheek. She leaned into his touch, and Frederick filed away how perfectly content she looked for when his insecurities inevitably overwhelmed him. She was happy to have him come to her loft, and she was certainly not repulsed. He only hoped he could remember that when his heart beat faster and fear became all he could process. It was a daily occurrence now, and he wasn’t sure if it was a result of the bullet or the trauma of having been gutted and shot.

As they left the hospital, Frederick became overwhelmed by the sounds. He could hear car after car on the freeway. He could hear every conversation. He could hear that somewhere in all of it, Beatrice was speaking to him, but his mind couldn’t grab onto that thread. Instead, it seemed to choose the horns of cars on the nearby freeway. He tried to focus on her mouth, focus on anything to bring her voice to the forefront. She seemed to be waiting for an answer, and he was acutely aware he should’ve heard something. It was the feeling of being a child who hadn’t done the reading, too desperate to drown out his parents bickering, and was called on in class. It was when he was offered meal after meal he couldn’t consume after Gideon had dissected him. It was the helpless panic as he held a gun in Will Graham’s home.

“Wait,” he snapped, hands splayed at his waist and pressing down for emphasis. “Talk home.”

“Sweetheart, I’m just asking if you—”

“Wait, home.” His voice was terse, and his cheeks burned red. She stood to his left, so between his diminished hearing and lack of selective attention, he was at a loss. He fumbled to duck into the car, and Beatrice knew better than to try and help. Soon enough he was huffing as he sat, and she wanted to reach over for his hand, but the way his eyes darted around the car and his breathing never fully calmed was all too familiar. His hands gripped the armrests, knuckles turning white. She simply drove to her loft, parking carefully and taking the small bag of things he’d accumulated from the trunk. His vintage car sat parked in the spot beside hers, and she’d already managed to consolidate both of their wardrobes into the closets. Sleep had evaded her as she waited each night to be able to return to the hospital. She was just grateful the museum had let her work remotely, trading meetings with paperwork with whoever she could and doing the rest over video whenever possible.

He was fussing with his sweater as she unlocked the door, not quite able to look at her. The cars roared past; people chatted as they walked; a phone rang; music played. He couldn’t focus on anything, hearing it all at once. Beatrice was being patient with him, and he wanted to be angry with her for it. Frederick wanted her to snap back. If she did, he’d have a reason to run and find a new house, one where he’d be left entirely alone. But instead, he could see the things he wanted from his house had been moved in and settled. The blinds were down, and he felt significantly less overwhelmed away from the street. As he made his way to the couch, he could hear nothing but the echo of his cane. They were high enough and far enough from the main road the cars barely registered as a hum now they were indoors. Suddenly, he realized she was looking at him again. Her hands were on her hips as she waited for a response, but again, she’d been to his left. 

“What?” He set his mouth in his firmest stare, hoping annoyance came across rather than his growing annoyance at his ability to hear or speak.

“I just wanted to make sure you’re good. Do you need anything.”

“Fine.”

“I’m just making sure.” She’d been so patient, but he’d been just tense enough she seemed hurt. Still, she pressed a kiss to his temple before going to her art room. It’s what she always did when she wasn’t sure how to process things. She knew what could happen, but she’d been a child when her parents came home. Her mother dealt with physical trauma, but her father had also had a traumatic brain injury. She was used to what the results were, but Beatrice still wanted to cry. She wanted to cry because he was unhappy. She wanted to cry because she couldn’t fix it. She wanted to cry because she wanted to be able to wallow without making it seem anything had truly happened to her. It scared her not to be able to know what he was thinking, and then she felt guilty because she was aware Frederick was terrified and frustrated.

Finally, she did cry for a little while, sitting on a stool in front of the easel. Then she gave up on painting and curled up on the couch, letting herself stay teary. Before the injury, she knew well enough that if he was being grumpy he needed to be left alone until he was ready. Then they could talk. He was still who he was before, so she guessed the time would be good. After taking a nap, she woke to a sinking on the loveseat as unsteady hands lifted her legs and placed them in his lap. She opened her eyes, smiling softly to see him there.

“Sorry.” His voice was gentle as his hand came to rest on her side. 

“It’s okay.”

“Not.”

“I knew you just needed space. You’re not the first person with a traumatic brain injury I’ve known.”

“Parent?”

“Yeah. Dad. They beat him really badly. Motor skills mostly. And he’d get overwhelmed by sounds.”

“Better?” He wanted to hear he could heal, wanted to know that was why she had such persistent faith in him. Otherwise, he could feel his stomach churn at the idea that what he thought he said and what came out never matched. The idea of spending forever overwhelmed by sound scared him. But now, in the quiet with Beatrice on his right side, he could hear her and understand her.

“Physically, yes. He’d been depressed before. He made it ten years. Then he decided to go.”

He didn’t try to say anything when he processed what she’d said. Instead he pulled her against him like she did after nightmares. His hand came to rest on the back of her head, and he let his chin rest in her hair. If there was one thing he could say he’d learned from her, it was how to comfort someone. She leaned against him, and the way her fingers curled into the sides of his shirt let him know she was afraid too, something he hated to find soothing. She wasn’t as thoroughly nonplussed as she wanted him to think. They were both stubborn and afraid. 

“Frederick, promise if you ever feel it would be better to…go…you’ll tell me.”

Before, Frederick had been in those darkest depths, and he was still surprised he had made it. He supposed that was because last time he was able to write and work and do all the things he now couldn’t. What was different was that Beatrice was there now. Already, he felt more certain, more grounded, and more able to disguise whatever effects there may be. His speech was the only thing that couldn’t be covered. But he’d now watched her care for him in such little ways that he was starting to believe she truly loved him, not what he was. If she’d known the scrawny, anxious kid he was in college, she may have even liked him then. He was overcome at how purely accepted he’d been by her for so long, and before he could stop them, tears fell.

“Not go.” His voice was thick with emotion, and he let himself bury his nose into her hair, savoring the feel of her close, the delicate floral shampoo. 

“Thank you,” she whispered.

#frederick chilton x reader #frederick chilton x oc #Frederick Chilton #hannibal fanfiction #writing

[barbasbodaciousbeard]

my god he is literally so.

[barbasbodaciousbeard]

Commenting positively on fic like

Unfamiliar author: wow I loved this!

Author you’ve interacted with before: you killed me, I’m dead

Author who’s your friend: I hate you

[barbasbodaciousbeard]

Katt's Birthday Bingo!

It's bingo time again friends!!

Prompts are songs, dialogue, or spring themed!

Submissions can be anything! a mood board, a ficlet, headcanons, drabbles, gif sets, one shots, social media au's, literally whatever you want!!

Read the rest of the rules under the cut!!

Song prompts: NEW STYLE!! You can either choose 2-4 lines from the song to include in your fic (bold/italicize for reference). you can change pronouns to make it fit your fic. OR you can just take the general *vibe* of the song to inspire you into writing a fic/creation.

Prompts can be any genre, make it super spicy, make it tooth rotting fluff, make it angsty as fuck, make it an AU. just make sure to include any and all appropriate warnings/tags at the TOP of the post.

Fics can be either a ship, a reader insert, an OC, or even a crossover. mix and match, stick with one, try out a new character or fandom!!

Accepted Characters:

Literally everyone/thing. This is wide open to any and every fandom/show/movie that you want, it's free game besties!!

For example:

SVU:

-Olivia Benson, Melinda Warner, Amanda Rollins, Sonny Carisi, Rafael Barba, Casey Novak, Alex Cabot, Nick Amaro, Peter Stone, Kat Tamin, Elizabeth Donnelly, Mike Dodds, Rita Calhoun, Pippa Cox.

Criminal Minds:

-Aaron Hotchner, Emily Prentiss, Jennifer Jareau, Penelope Garcia, Derek Morgan, Tara Lewis, Alex Blake, Spencer Reid.

Any Raul Esparza characters (Bryan, Nevada, Chilton, Paul, Jackson, etc)

Any Elizabeth Marvel characters (Keane, Dunbar, Victoria, Constance, Ella, etc)

Other Fandoms to spark creativity!

-NCIS

-One Chicago

-House of Cards

-Homeland

-Goliath

-The Good Fight

-Mayans

-Greys Anatomy

-911/Lonestar

-Marvel/MCU

-OUAT

-Why Women Kill

-Pretty Little Liars (preferably over 18 characters only.)

-The L Word

Rules:

You MUST tag me @storiesofsvu and use the hashtag #kattsbdaybingo2022 on each creation and I'll put together the masterlist.

Bingo begins April 20th and runs all the way through to May 31st, six weeks to have some fun (with an extra two weeks to plan/prep before we start). you may only submit/post ONE creation PER DAY and only one square per creation.

No underage readers/OC's

Tag all and every warning appropriately at the top of a fic

Anything over 1000 words must be under a readmore.

If you have any questions, feel free to comment/send me an anon/ask or a message!!

____

tagging some people who might be interested?

@swimmingstudentchaos891 @nocreditinthestraightworld @bumblebear30 @teamsladsandgents @thatesqcrush @detective-giggles @beccabarba @tropes-and-tales @witches-unruly-heart @prurientpuddlejumper @lannister-slings-and-arrows @hurricanejjareau @wannabe-fic-writer @fighterkimburgess @natasha-danvers @ssa-sapphic @demisicle @5raysofsunshine @ssaagentemilyprentiss @temilyrights @sapphicalexblake @tinyboxxtink @itsjustmyfantasyroom @ms-calhoun @dalexandriag16 @drduckthief @narvaldetierra @wine-drunk-on-elizabeth @alexusonfire @pascalispretty @justalittleghostwriter @stone-hearted-seymour @melk917@cycat-carisi @caracalwithchips @maximoffwitch

#been desperate to get back in a writing swing #going to try this

[barbasbodaciousbeard]

“I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked, dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix …”

Happy World Poetry Day (21 March 2022) to all you beatniks!

[barbasbodaciousbeard]

will you stay up late with me and talk about the meaning of life and make out with me or not