#crying in the courtroom lmao | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

seitmai · 2 months ago

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Many thoughts so read more it is..

“Mommy, I’m sleepy,” she groans, looking up at you. You know how tired she is, her eyes tell you everything. She looks towards Andy, and then at you. He has been amazing. Calm, and rational, while you’ve been a ball of emotions. “Can Andy hold me like you are Suede so I can sleep?”

I get it, I want to be held by Andy to fall asleep too

“No, being a mother is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, and I love it. But seeing him like this, and how he was earlier; Andy, I could have lost him.” “But we didn’t,” a new round of never ending tears flow freely, and he doesn’t even realize what those two letters mean to you. We. You didn’t have to do this alone. You didn’t have to sit here with Suede, while Scott took Audrey home. You didn’t have to carry all this emotion and responsibility alone.

🥹🥹🥹

“I should have said that he’s a happy healthy boy because of the way that you have been raising him. Your kids are incredible because of you,” you hate crying. Despise it. And today you have cried so much! “Hey,” you look at Andy as he places Audrey in her seat. Taking so much care, so he doesn’t wake her up, “Can you let me shoulder some of this burden?” Placing your baby boy in his seat, you peer at Andy from across the car, and nod your head. Clearing your throat, “As long as you let me carry some of your burdens.”

They really just wann do it all together, the good and the bad 🥹

Her brow furrows while she starts drawing figures in the jury box. Pausing to count each one, and Andy lets out a long breath, “Daddy said I’m going to be a lawyer, so I need to know these things,” she stops again, poking a finger at each figure, drawing in two more. “Twelve.”

There is so much pressure on her and she is just 4 😭

“How does…no. I mean, is he going to always look like that now?” Her face crinkles up a bit, “He was cuter before.”

Lmao I love the honesty of kids and siblings have a special kind of honesty, I know from experience 😅

Are you okay? You know you can talk to your mom, me, even your dad about this whenever you want,” she looks back down at her drawing, and shakes her head. “No, you’re not okay?” “I’m okay, but daddy don’t like to talk about this, and it makes mommy sad.”

She should not have to deal with this 💔

Holding him on your hip as you grab the towel next to Scott, and he grabs your wrist, “You’re being negligent since he came into your life.” “Careful with your words, Scott. Because you purposefully let that woman bring a cat into my house, knowing our son was allergic,” you jerk your hand away from him, and bring the towel with you. Getting into the bedroom when you maneuver it around Suede’s body. “You do not get to put this on me. Just today your fiancé was telling us how Suede would like apples with walnuts on it.”

Yes!! Tell him!!👏🏻

“You got as much to say as she does with Taylor living with you. For the past three months, if I recall. That is when her apartment lease was up, and it wasn’t renewed. Now, I’m guessing since she hasn’t signed anywhere else, and you added another person to your own rental agreement, that she officially lives with you. So let’s quit going tit for tat, Scott because I got you beat. Whatever happened in the past, is the past. Currently we’re all trying to make sure that kids are happy and healthy. Suede is happy, and despite an added allergy, he’s healthy. Audrey is happy, despite her drawing a courtroom for fun,” Andy will continue to bring this up because it disgusts him. She should be playing with Barbie dolls.

Wow this was perfect 👏🏻

“And he doesn’t have to kick you when you’re down. What are you two doing?” You don’t move, just smile at the kids being able to see you and Andy love each other. It takes two point five seconds before they run, and crash into your back. “Do not get all silly, it’s bedtime,” they’re happy. They’re happy despite the chaos and hurt of the day. Giggling and having fun. Seeing true love between the adults in the house. A family in every sense of the word.

🥰🥰🥰

His eyes are so glossy, and you want to hold him so tightly. He didn’t have a family growing up. Didn’t have a present mother, father was in prison, didn’t have siblings, and you knew how much he wanted moments like this. “I’m fine,” Andy opts to keep his shirt, and pajama bottoms on. You get it, but you do love his topless suggles.

The moments he always wished for 🥹

Haha just imagining Ransom on the floor for a sleep over 😂

She's so sweet 🥰

That is all it takes for Audrey and Suede to reach for the bags, pulling out the perfectly stuffed tissue paper. Audrey squeals as she holds up an iPad box, and your head immediately jerks towards Ransom, and Suede giggles, pulling out his own. “Ransom!” “What, they’re minis. And, they have their own data, so they can call you whenever they want.”

I love that his reasoning is that he got them not iPads but iPad minis 😂

He really is the worst 🤢

“You’re a pig, and that is the least of the things I can say. You called your own children baggage, and the only drama in her life is you. You want to say you got the best years, and you didn’t. I got all her firsts, and I’m going to have all her lasts, and you’re going to be a sad pathetic lonely man. Do you get that? Clearly you do, and that’s why you’re so bitter. You were a placeholder in her life, one that gave her the two best things you could, and you don’t even realize it. You had it all. Everything, and you threw it away for a woman that’s barely a woman, and when she’s bored, she will leave you. And if I ever hear you say another thing about my future wife…”

Ngl I love Andy's rants against Scott 🤭

No one has ever told you they love how you are a mother. It was just something that was expected of you. But hearing it from him is nearly painful. A pain that reverberates through your body because you believe him, and his words are strong. It’s a love that is so powerful it stings and overwhelms.

🥹🥹🥹

“Damn right it is. Go to sleep, little deer. I’ll clean everything up, and unlock the door, okay?” You smile, and nod. Letting beautiful dreams of unknown children, and your two oldest run around in a big backyard. What a dream. What a beautiful dream.

A dream that hopefully soon will be reality 🤞🏻

Two Good Reasons, Part 6

Summary: Andy’s

Pairings: Andy Barber X Reader

Rating: explicit

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content, Scott Huffman, mentions of Suede’s bee stings, cute and sweet Ransom, self esteem issues, oral sex (F receiving), body worship, breeding kink, unprotected sex, creampie, cum play, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 8K

Series Masterlist

Lifting up Suede’s hand, you kiss over his welts and swollen skin. He had finally gone to sleep a little bit ago, and now you get to fully look over his pitiful body. Eyes puffy, nearly swollen shut, while welts dot over his exposed skin in a grotesque painful looking way. Putting his arm down, you glance over at Audrey who is nodding off to sleep. Lifting up her hand where a pretty pink bandage now resides to kiss her sting as well. She was a trooper through it all.

It hadn’t ever occurred to you how much Andy stepped back more with Audrey. Not because he didn’t like her or wasn’t comfortable, but because she has a voice, and she has a great relationship with her father. So instead of forcing, Andy waits on her. “If it’s okay with him, why don’t you ask?”

“Andy,” she sleepily says looking at him. He already leans back in the chair, but waits for her to actually ask him, “Can you hold me, so I can sleep?”

“Of course, princess,” you hold her hand, so she can jump off the exam table, and she wobbles one time before she gets to Andy, and he picks up your abnormally small daughter, and lets her koala on him, using his shoulder as a resting spot for her head. It’s nearly instantly her breathing changes.

“Thank you,” you sigh, wiping tears from your eyes. You thought you loved Andy, but seeing him in dad mode makes you love him more. It still shocks you just how much you do love him in this state, “Not just for that, but today. All of it. It was a good day, until it wasn’t.”

“Were you aware of his allergy to bees?” You shake your head no, and tears steadily stream down your cheeks. It is just another thing to add to his growing list. Food allergies were terrifying, but you still had ways to control them. Bees are something you can't. You can’t keep him inside, locked up in a bubble.

“Honey,” Andy coos, trying to soothe you from afar, and you shake your head in frustration. Wiping away the saline trails that stain your face.

“No, being a mother is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, and I love it. But seeing him like this, and how he was earlier; Andy, I could have lost him.”

“But we didn’t,” a new round of never ending tears flow freely, and he doesn’t even realize what those two letters mean to you. We. You didn’t have to do this alone. You didn’t have to sit here with Suede, while Scott took Audrey home. You didn’t have to carry all this emotion and responsibility alone.

“Seeing him like that never gets easier.”

“How many times have you had to use the EpiPen?”

“That was just the second time. But it was somehow worse. It happened so fast, and I could see him straining to breathe, and he just couldn’t. And he was just looking up at me, so scared, and in so much pain. Seventeen times,” you lament. “He was stung seventeen times. And everything was rushing around us, and all I could see was my baby unable to just breathe. Allergies suck.”

“Fuck allergies,” you snort out a laughter as you brush back Suede’s curls. Even swollen, he is one of the most beautiful babies you’ve ever seen. Him and Audrey tied. Everyone thinks their own children are beautiful, but you just know, you have the most beautiful babies ever.

Andy stands abruptly when the door opens, followed by the doctor. Audrey never stirs, and he holds her tighter. It was such a fluid motion, like he was meant to be a father. Standing at attention for any news. “Alright, Mr. And Mrs. Huffman,” Andy rolls his eyes, but doesn’t say anything. The doctor thought the kids were his, and that’s all he cares about. Even if the last name annoyed him.

“I think it’s safe to say that Suede is allergic to bees for now. Here’s a prescription for a new EpiPen, and we’ve got him scheduled for a visit with his allergist. He needs to be tested again,” you assumed that was coming, and you dread it.

“Is there a possibility he isn’t allergic and it was because of the amount of stings?” Out of the corner of your eyes you see Andy slowly rub over Audrey’s back. Whether it was to keep her asleep or his own anxiety, you’re not sure, but in a weird way it soothes you.

The doctor sighs, “It’s possible of course, but you still need to go to the allergist. Other than that, he’s fine. He’ll probably need to do a sinus wash, give him his antihistamine, monitor him, but other than that, he’s free to go,” you nod. Overwhelmed, and exhausted yourself. Scooting to the edge of the exam table before Andy steps over, holding out his hand.

“Mrs. Huffman, I see you look defeated, and you shouldn’t be. He’s a strong boy, and you reacted quickly. You did everything that you could to prevent anything terrible. Don’t beat yourself up. Your son is a happy healthy boy because of how you two are raising him,” Andy beams. Standing up straighter, but then he looks at you, softening his smile as he helps you off the table. “Suede deserves lots of rest, and may I suggest mango sorbet?”

“We’ll keep that in mind, doctor. Thank you,” his words lift so much pressure off your back. Exhausted didn’t even begin to describe the way you feel. Exhaustion laces through every fiber of your body as you and Andy walk out of the ER. His hand firmly planted on the small of your back.

Placing your baby boy in his seat, you peer at Andy from across the car, and nod your head. Clearing your throat, “As long as you let me carry some of your burdens.”

“Doe, I’ve never kept any secrets from you. You know all about my life, my family, and you still want me in yours and their life. But yes, if it gets too hard, we can be each other’s support,” for the first time since you heard Suede’s pained cries, and Audrey’s shrill screams, you smile. This is a difficult situation, but knowing you’re not alone as you trudge through this uncharted territory helps. Things don’t feel so heavy.

Settling into the car, Andy grabs your hand in his own quickly, while you lay up against his shoulder. Just breathing, and just listening to them. All of them. Including Andy.

——

“Auds, what cha doing?” Andy places another dish in the dishwasher, while Audrey sticks her tongue out, scribbling something on a piece of paper. She sits up on her knees with her face so close to the paper. “Audrey, you’re going to hurt your eyes,” and she sits back a bit more, and looks up at Andy.

“Who is the ban-if again?” Her head twists to the side, looking like a puppy as Andy throws a towel on the counter, walking towards the dinner table. He looks down at the picture Audrey has been coloring, and bites his tongue.

“This is the judge. That is the defense attorney, and this is you, the prosecutor. But what is the ban-if? I can’t remember.”

“Bailiff,” Andy says softly, reaching for his own crayon. He draws a person, and Audrey looks up at him smiling. “Do you remember what they do?”

“Umm,” he tries to make sense of this. Tries to figure out why a four year old is drawing parts of a courtroom for fun when she should be actually playing. Or coloring My Little Ponies or something. Anything but this. “That’s the one that is like a police officer? And they can take criminals back to jail?”

“Yeah, they’re the ones that keep the courtroom safe. Why are you doing this?”

Audrey leans back in her chair, looking up at Andy, “Can I have an applesauce pack?” Finally something normal for a child. He gets up out of his seat, and returns with two pouches. One for him, and one for her. She only eats one squeeze before she stares at her drawing. “Did Suede almost die?”

“No,” he answers without hesitation. Not almost. He could have, but everyone did what they needed to do.

“He looked purple though,” Andy’s fingers drum over the kitchen table, trying to think of a way to answer her questions. Questions that you might refuse to answer. “I tell Taylor that Suede can’t have walnuts or eggs because he’ll die, but can he really?”

“Yes, he can. But that’s why we carry those pens with us. They’re the safety measure until we get him to the hospital. As long as we’re careful…”

“How does…no. I mean, is he going to always look like that now?” Her face crinkles up a bit, “He was cuter before.”

“The swelling will go down. I’m sure it’ll look different for a few days, but it won’t stay that way. Are you okay? You know you can talk to your mom, me, even your dad about this whenever you want,” she looks back down at her drawing, and shakes her head. “No, you’re not okay?”

“I’m okay, but daddy don’t like to talk about this, and it makes mommy sad.”

“I’ll always listen. Mommy will, too. Even if it makes her sad,” he sees a slight grin edge up on her face before he settles back into his chair, and she picks up a different crayon. He couldn’t stop what’s already been done, so might add to it, “Where does the witness sit during cross examination?”

Her body wiggles around excitedly, drawing a square next to the judge, and then a little figure, “Good job, sweetheart,” he says, flicking his head towards the door before he jogs off to answer the knock. “Evening, Scott.”

“Where’s my son?” he pushes past Andy, and into the foyer, walking down the hall, and deeper in the house. Looking around the living room when he doesn’t see Suede. “And my daughter?”

“Audrey is doing courtroom homework in the dining room, and Suede is getting a bath in the big tub,” he flicks his eyes towards the dining room, before returning to Andy. “Audrey’s fine. I think you should check on Suede.”

Scott rolls his eyes before walking towards his old bedroom. Glancing towards the open closet, and his jaw tightens. Andy’s clothes were all in the closet. In the hamper. A different bed. He barely knocks on the door to the bathroom before opening it, and Suede looks at you before standing up in the tub, and trying to give you a hug. You softly run your hand up and down his back, keeping your movements slow. Careful not to be harsh on his welts.

Scott scans over Suede’s body before leaning back on the bathroom counter, and Suede gives him a little smile, realizing he wasn’t there to take him from you. You keep humming the song you had been humming before Suede squats back down, and falls into the water with a laugh.

“How is he?” It’s one of the first times you’ve ever felt like Scott has sounded concerned for Suede. “How many stings? My god. Buddy, you okay?”

“Chess. Mama. Na Na,” his few words turn to gibberish, and Scott pinches the bridge of his nose.

“He’s got to go back to the allergist, and get pricked again,” your hand skims the warm water. Trying to relax Suede, but relax yourself more. The ability to see all his stings hurt you so much.

“I think it’s safe to say that he’s allergic to bees. How many stings?”

Suede’s hand reaches towards yours before he stands, and creates a slide down the back of the tub. Giggling before doing it again. “You know I don’t like when he does that in my house.”

“Seventeen times,” you try to change the subject. Suede rarely took a bath in the big tub. And as soon as you caught Scott fucking the babysitter, his rules for your children having fun didn’t apply anymore. “Audrey was stung once.”

“Is she okay?” Keeping your eyes on your baby, you roll your eyes, but nod.

“Yes. They got the stinger out, and gave her a pink unicorn bandage. There’s a little bit of swelling, but it’s her left hand, so she can still hold a crayon.”

“I can’t tell if you’re being condescending or not,” not towards your daughter, but towards his priorities.

“And neither can I,” everything you said was the truth, and under normal circumstances, you wouldn’t have cared for his concern. But here sits his son with seventeen stings, welts, swollen, wet coughs, and a snotty nose, and he’s worried about one sting. “His face turned purple again.”

“And how long did it take you to get to him?” Even though his words are calm, they cut deeply. Watching Suede now, you realize this evening could have ended very differently in a matter of seconds.

“It didn’t take long, but his airways had been sealed shut.”

“Seventeen goddamn times,” he says your name, and tears instantly flood your vision. “What the hell were you doing when our baby was stung that many times?”

“I was closer than you were.”

“Because it was your weekend. I would have never…”

“I didn’t know he was allergic to bees!” You shout, causing Suede to flinch. You take a deep breath, continuing the conversation softer, “Do you think I want my children to be stung? For them to feel any pain? Especially when it comes to their lives?” Suede whispers ‘Mama,’ standing up in the water, and he leans against you. “Do not put this on me, and act like it was my fault, I already feel guilty enough as it is.”

“You should!” Your eyes squeeze shut. Inhale. Exhale. You slowly open your eyes and look at Suede when you pick him up out of the tub without a towel. Holding him on your hip as you grab the towel next to Scott, and he grabs your wrist, “You’re being negligent since he came into your life.”

“Careful with your words, Scott. Because you purposefully let that woman bring a cat into my house, knowing our son was allergic,” you jerk your hand away from him, and bring the towel with you. Getting into the bedroom when you maneuver it around Suede’s body. “You do not get to put this on me. Just today your fiancé was telling us how Suede would like apples with walnuts on it.”

“That’s different!”

“How?” You shout. Actually raising your voice, and then pull the towel covered Suede closer against your body, while you snuggle him. “How is that different?”

“Because she didn’t actually do it! You’re the one that was stupid enough to take your eyes off our kids, probably to make out with Andy fucking Barber!”

“It’s time for you to leave,” Andy’s presence is enormous as he steps into the doorframe. Hands on his hips, and his voice so calm, and yet demanding. It’s easy to see why he is feared in the courtroom. How everyone knows he will be a judge one day. “You’re not coming into our home and talking like that in front of the kids.”

“Take a look at the deed, you prick,” Scott spins on his heels stopping in front of Andy, “There is no ‘our’ with you. There’s not even ‘our’ with me. There’s one person’s name on that deed, and it’s not hers. You want to know the reason why she’s still living here?”

“Because she’s got your children. You wouldn’t want her and the kids to be homeless now, would you?” Scott and Andy silently stare at one another. “I would have given her the house, too, Scott. It’s what good men do, right?”

“I’m still going for sole custody. This incident will be recorded. I’ve already gotten a copy of his ER discharge papers,” Andy’s eyes go ablaze with every disgusting word he says.

“No! Scott, don’t you dare! You don’t even want him. You let her bring a cat into his home! That was intentional,” you hold Suede even tighter, and Andy raises his hand slightly, keeping his eyes on your soon to be ex husband.

“Scott, you’re going to quit threatening my girlfriend.”

“My wife,” Scott gives him an evil smirk.

“That you cheated on,” Scott blinks quickly, looking away for a split second, “I should probably look at the prenup agreement, huh? You’re going to quit with your idle threats, you’re not going to push for sole custody. You’re going to carry on with the agreement that was settled in mediation, and when we find a house, you can have this place back since you’re the only one on the deed.”

“We’re still married. You know I can have something to say about you living here,” you wish he would. You wish that he would say something. Pig.

“This isn’t over,” Scott grunts before shoving past Andy’s shoulder. He stops to look towards the dining room before walking to the front door, leaving with a slam, and not a word to Audrey, and you gracefully fall to the floor. Clinging to and rocking Suede.

Exhausted.

Mentally exhausted.

Andy reaches on the bed, handing you Suede’s pajamas and cream. Sitting on the edge of the bed quietly as you put a diaper on him. Rubbing the cream into all of his stings. Slipping those pajamas on before lifting him up and holding him so tightly, and still he says nothing. He stares out into space.

“Suedey, you want to go get sissy so we can get everyone in bed?”

“Chess,” he runs off, and you spin to look at Andy. He’s the only reason you’re upright at this moment. He has been your strength.

“Would you tell me if I overstep my bounds?” You get to your knees, crawling in between his thighs before laying on his lap. Extending both arms around his waist, and just hug him. “This is too sweet, but you’re not answering.”

“Yes, babe, I’d tell you. You know you’re the only person that’s ever taken up for me,” Andy gives your back scritches. Sighing as his body relaxes. Going limp almost at your calming touch, “You didn’t have to go so hard on him with the house, but I loved it.”

“Since…since Suedey is sleeping in here, can I sleep in here, too?” Andy looks at you, and you look at him, and without saying a word, and barely either of your faces changing, you know the answer. You give her a nod and she runs, struggling to get into the bed.

Suede’s eyes already get heavy, his antihistamine kicking in. Audrey understood that her brother is going to sleep on your chest all night, while you hardly sleep. A paranoia of his breathing stopping, so you need to watch his body rise and fall with his oxygen intake.

“How about a movie?” Audrey asks, motoring her lips and blowing a raspberry. She’s extra cute when she thinks she’s being sly.

“One movie. Lights completely out,” you tell her, crawling into the bed with Audrey. “Andy?” It isn't hesitation in his eyes as much as it’s observing. Smiling as Audrey leans over on your stomach. Wiggling around to get comfortable, and then reaches for her brother’s hand. “You okay?”

“Is there room for me?” He asks lifting his edge of the bed’s covers up.

“Chess, Na Na! Hewe!”

“You hold mommy’s hand.”

“I don’t mind if I do,” Andy leans over, giving you a quick peck to your temple, causing an uproar of sleepy laughter, and he weaves his fingers in yours. His other hand grabs the remote. “I say we watch Winnie the Pooh,” both kids nod, giggling again.

“Next time can Ann come to our slumber party?”

“Where is he going to sleep, baby?”

Audrey shrugs, sitting up in the bed to look on the floor, “There’s room for him to sleep down there,” you shush her. Already she was getting too excited about Ann visiting. Ransom would never sleep on the floor, but she didn’t have to know it. She settles back in between you and Andy, and you glimpse her edging a little closer to him. Finally, sticking her foot out, so she can touch him, too.

Touch is a way she shows her comfort. Before Suede was born, if she slept in the bed with you and Scott, she’d lay diagonally between the two of you. Hands on you, feet on him. It feels right. Like they’ve always belonged to him. To you and him.

Today has been exhausting, but this is the way you would want it to end. Suede’s rattling breathing on your chest, Audrey snuggled next to you, a hand holding Suede’s and a foot on Andy’s waist. She’s making sure she touches everyone. And the man that you know is without a doubt your soulmate. Your mate. Your best friend. And the man you are going to marry, once the divorce is over. But there’s a part of you that also believes you could maybe give him a child. It’s what he deserves.

“Thank you,” you whisper to him, and he pulses his hand around yours.

“Get a couple hours of sleep. I’ll watch his breathing,” you thank him again, but you can’t sleep. Not like that. You're sure he’s fine, but a mother will forever worry. But tonight, the worry isn’t as bad because you have your entire world in one bed.

——

“Uhh!” Suede stops his playing in the middle of the floor. His eyes big and wide as he stares at you, and then at Andy. “Hewe!”

“I’ll get it!” Audrey runs towards the door with you close behind. Going as fast as her short little legs will carry her, and Suede is right behind. She slings the door open, gasping as she stares at the tall man, “Uncle Ann!”

“Uncle?” Ransom asks confused.

“Ann!”

“Ran, what are you doing here?” He brings his hands out from behind his back, shrugging as he holds out two gift bags, too expertly decorated, and you give him an odd look. “What are you doing?”

“One, two!” Audrey shouts. Jumping up and down, and getting the same reaction from Suede. “There’s two, that’s for me and Suedey!”

“It is. Can I come in?” You step aside, waiting for Ransom to enter before closing the door, “Where’s your less than desirable boyfriend?”

“I heard that,” Andy steps out of the kitchen, extending a hand to his colleague, and Ransom shakes his head no. “I was cleaning up after lunch,” Ransom grimaces, “Doe made lunch, I cleaned up. And then for dinner we’re ordering out.”

“Indian!”

“Chess!” as if in response Andy smiles wide, noticing the presents, and both kids chasing Ransom’s arms that keep lifting the bags up. You have kept both kids out of ‘school’ until Suede fully heals. Needing to see what his new allergies are before you let him out of your sight. Audrey wanted to stay with her brother, much to Scott’s chagrin.

“Me?” Suede asks, jumping up and down excitedly.

“Yes, one is for you.”

“Let’s clean up the living room, and take everything back to the playroom room first,” the kids groan, but head into the living room, “Keep him here, until we’re done. It’s a mess,” Andy watches the three of you leave with the biggest smile on his face.

“So you made this thing social media official. Profile pictures changed to a family photo. I’m sure Scotty is going to love that,” Andy rolls his eyes playfully, starting to walk away, and Ransom chuckles. “Cute fingernail polish.”

“Audrey got bored during Suede and Doe’s nap. I’m taking it off before tomorrow. What’s in the bag?” Ransom shrugs with a smile walking down the hall before stopping. “Thought you were going to be cocky, but didn’t know where you were going.”

“Listen, I don’t get sappy, and I’m not going to start right now, but you suit this life. Maybe not in this dump of a house, but with her, the kids, maybe more kids,” his eyebrows raise and fall a few times, and Andy gets the biggest grin, “You’re already trying aren’t you? Before the divorce is finalized, that’s risky.”

“I know. I know. Her doctor and Scott really did a number to her self esteem with another pregnancy. But I am hopeful, and I enjoy the practice,” he turns around quickly, causing Suede to flinch before he giggles, screaming back down the hallway and into the living room, “I think he’s telling us they’ve cleaned, and he wants to see what the present is. And if it’s expensive, she’s going to complain.”

“Then I suppose I’ll hear her complain,” gesturing down the hall, Ransom lets Andy lead him into the living room where Suede and Audrey sit cross legged in the floor. Practically buzzing with excitement, and trying not to make grabby hands. Looking at their mom and then at Ransom. “I don’t know why you’re waiting on me.”

“What, they’re minis. And, they have their own data, so they can call you whenever they want.”

“I can call from upstairs?” You shake your head no, and Audrey pouts a bit. “Why not?”

“You can if it’s important, but these will be kept up at night. You’re not going to sit and play with them all day. You’ll have to earn time on it,” you never want your kids to be addicted to media.

“Can we take it to daddy’s and I can call you there?” You glance towards Ransom who gives you a warm smile, nodding. “And we won’t even have to ask to FaceTime you!”

“Chess!” Suede takes his box over to Andy, crawling in his lap, and he gives it a tap. “Pease, Na Na.”

“Doe, I think they earned this. And it would be a nice opportunity for the future,” there is so much more to these than either of the men are making it. It’ll be an issue with their father. But to have the ability to call them whenever they’re at Scott’s would be a huge relief. You can only answer with a nod, motioning Audrey to let you help her open the box. Whispering a thank you to Ransom.

Relief warms your body. It could be just for the moment, Scott may not let them use the iPads, but right now, you have an ease when you didn’t realize it was something that bothered you. Now that Suede has at least one more allergy to deal with, you just know nobody watches him quite like you do. Even his father. Even Andy. And that’s something you have to deal with in your own time.

——

Andy nods his goodbye to the judge, collecting all his things, and tries to keep his eyes on his task. It was a trial with Scott. Andy had thankfully remained calm and collected, while Scott was losing grip on the trial. Taking things far too personally. The Neanderthal part of Andy wants to lash out at Scott, wants to tell him to grow up. The little man with a big issue.

Halfway through the trial, and a warning from the judge, Andy realized that Scott never thought you would move on. Thought that you would be there waiting on him for when he and Taylor inevitably split up. A man that wants to belittle a woman, just so he can weasel himself back in, but he didn’t know you. Cheating was always your ‘I’m done and never going back’ moment. And why anyone would want to cheat on you, the perfect woman, is beyond him.

He grabs up his briefcase, heading towards the door, and finally free from him and today. He is almost gone, “At least I got her best years,” Andy stops immediately. Contemplating how he wants to deal with this. How he wants to address Scott’s demeaning comment. During his thought process Scott walks past Andy, brushing roughly against his shoulder.

“Is there a problem?” Scott spins around, shaking his head no. Thankfully the courtroom has cleared out, but Andy is so tired of these mind games. The threats. The disgusting behavior. The low blowing comments. He’s hitting a peak that he knows he’s going to have to address. “Honestly, what’s your deal?”

“Nothing,” he acts as if to move, and then stops, “You really don’t need her drama. You’re a good looking man, and have younger women vying for your attention. You could have a woman without baggage, and one who can still give you a child,” Andy’s teeth clench just as hard as his fists. “Think about it. Your own children with your last name. And besides, you know, everything is tighter.”

“What?” Scott interrupts, and Andy smiles, resuming his walking. Let Scott ponder the things that Andy could do if he wanted to. Let him sit and think about all the things Andy could do to ruin him, while he gets to go home to you. He isn’t waiting, a new house will need to be found. Scott is pushing too many boundaries, and being shameless about it. Tonight, he just wants you to feel all the ways that he is better, and the ways you are better with him. How perfect you truly are.

——

Andy watches you from the bed. His book laying on his stomach, and his eyes flit over your entire body. For one, he just loves to look at you. He loves seeing how even though you and your body have changed, you’re still the most beautiful woman he has ever seen in his life. You’re immaculate. Perfect. He just hates he missed so many years of getting to absorb you.

Another reason he watches, you seem tense. There’s an off-ness about you this evening that he can’t put his fingers on. Coupled with the words from Scott earlier today, it bothers him. You peer at yourself longer in the mirror than you normally do. You turn your body to the side, your eyes looking up and down your body. Do you not see what he sees? Do you not realize how amazing he finds your body? How every bit of the added curves are something that he wants to kiss.

You look into the mirror, and it’s like your face falls. You don’t see you like he sees you. You don’t understand the goddess that he gets to be in the presence of every day. Every fucking day he gets to be in your orbit, and he’s thankful, but you’re looking at yourself like you hate what you see. Even as a teenager you didn’t have this much self esteem issues, and he wonders what Scott has ever said to you to make you doubt your beauty, despite your flaws.

You turn to look at him, and quickly your vision falls to the vanity in front of you, twiddling your fingers on your gown. Andy places a bookmark in his book, laying it down on the nightstand before walking into the bathroom with you. Standing behind you, while his hands trace down the sides of your body. Circling his arms around your front before he pulls you into him.

His nose inhales your newly bathed scent. Slowly making his way higher before nipping at your jaw. “Doe, honey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you lie, and one hand moves to your breasts, the other trailing further south. “Andy,” his brow furrows as he looks at your reflection. That sounds like a plea for him to stop. “Why are you with me?”

Sighing, he rests his chin on your shoulder. His hands stop, but they don’t leave their spots. Andy only looks at your reflection, “Because I love you.”

“Why?” If he could get away with it, he might kill Scott. You are a woman that is now going to question his motives because of Scott. He knows that Scott choosing Taylor hurt more than your ego, but these feelings are deeper, coming from a place of Scott words.

“You’re my best friend. You are the strongest woman I know. You make me laugh, smile, get excited to come here, and one day I’ll be going home to our family. I love seeing you be a mother, and how fiercely you love your kids,” your waterline fills with tears. No one has ever told you they love how you are a mother. It was just something that was expected of you. But hearing it from him is nearly painful. A pain that reverberates through your body because you believe him, and his words are strong. It’s a love that is so powerful it stings and overwhelms.

“You’re a damn good cook. And I love watching you in this element. I love watching you move on top of me in the mornings. Your whispered moans as you use me. I love watching you sleep. You don’t have to be doing anything, and still I love it.”

“That sounds so creepy,” you manage to huff out a laugh, and wipe away stray tears.

“You’re the most beautiful woman in the world, but your beauty is more than your looks,” his words turn into moans as he kisses your body. Slowly taking your nightgown off you, and your hands immediately cover your stomach in shame. Everything in here with all the lights and the mirror is intimidating.

Andy sinks to his knees as he descends further down. Leaning around your body as he kisses on your arms, using his hands to pull your arms off your body, and he ghosts his lips over your belly. Saying your name like a sweet prayer with every tender touch of his lips.

“I will spend everyday worshiping you, and reminding you how perfect you are for me as long as you do the same. I will lift you up from the depths of whatever pit that Scott left you in because I need you. I love you. And I will give us a baby,” waterfalls of tears pour down your cheeks and still his lips linger. Going lower, and lower before kissing your covered core.

“I’m not giving up on you, on us, on expanding our family because Audrey and Suede are part of my family. I get all of you. Every bit of it, and I’ve always wanted it. I’ll take you in any shape or form because it’s you I want. I want to grow old with you. I want to sit on our porch in rockers, and watch our grandchildren play. You are what I’ve always wanted,” you whimper as he licks a strip up the gusset of your panties. Hooking his fingers in the elastic before pulling them slowly down your body.

He smiles at your exposed core. Desperately moaning at the sight of you even though you don’t have a thigh gap or you’re thicker than when you first were together. Despite your older age, he still stares at you like you’re a work of art. His look has never changed. His tongue roams through your split, and you spread your legs further apart. Stepping back to give him more room, and he moves to your front, sitting on the floor, while he desperately eats your cunt.

Pulling you nearly over him, and his hands roam over your naked body. His hands working you over. Loving you wordlessly. Using his hands to show he wanted your body in this form, and any form you gave him. Scott tried so many times to ruin you. Mentioned how it wouldn’t be long before Andy wanders, too because you wanted too much. And there would never be a man that holds up to your standards. Except, here he is, sitting on the floor, feasting on you like a five star dinner.

“Watch yourself,” he pants, staring up at you, and you glance down confused. “I want you to see just how amazing you look when I make you come. When I taste you, and make you moan, watch,” his face buries back into your warmth, but he keeps his eyes on you. He kneads and tweaks your nipples, and you grind over his mouth. Trying to watch yourself despite the embarrassment until the pleasure becomes too much. Watching while you enjoy the way he makes you feel.

“Andy,” he pinches your nipples harder. Rolling them in his fingers, while you let out the most beautiful mewl. Too loud, so he stops. “Andrew Barber!”

Andy maneuvers himself out of the floor, and gets right in your face as his thick hand rubs off the slick on his beard. His hands grab the hemline of his shirt, and he pulls it off his body, and then pulls down his boxers. “You’re too loud, and will wake up the kids.”

“But it feels too good,” whining because why is he a god in a man’s body? Why is sex on legs? Able to make your pussy throb, and cry for him.

“Pouting is going to get you nowhere,” he steps behind you, pressing a hand in between your shoulder blades, and adds pressure. Leaning you forward before gathering your slick on the crown of his cock. “But I will fuck you, while I cover your mouth. I’m going to make you stare at yourself, while I pump you full of cum, and breed you like a bitch in heat,” your mouth falls open, and you start to say something but he lays a hand on your mouth, and in one thrust, his cock stretches you wide open.

Yipping when he slides all the way home, “You talk too much. Just enjoy the ride,” that hand on your mouth never moves, but he grips your hip tight as he crashes into you over and over again. “See how your eyes get all glossy and wide because I’m fucking you? How your body moves every time that I fill this cunt like no one else ever has. That’s because you were made for me. You are mine. All mine, and I will fuck you until you swell with me. Our other babies are going to fawn over you. They’re going to be so excited to see their mama happy and full.”

You preen. Your back bows, but you’re watching him. He’s so sexy when he’s slightly angry. When his only determination is giving you what you want, his baby. It’s all so much. Overwhelming. You feel everything, see everything, “Keep your eyes on you,” you try, but he’s too beautiful. “Doe! On you!”

He spears into with so much force that you see stars, and watch yourself. He’s so rough, and yet, your body takes him. Takes every thick, hard inch of him. You were meant for him. You were meant solely for him. To give him a family that he’s always wanted. The new tears in your eyes are something else entirely, they’re the realization that you were for Andy. Good enough for him. Enough for him! The perfect man you could ever imagine, you were enough. And it is addictive. You’ve always been addicted to him. Always longed for him.

You tug at his arm, and his hand moves to your neck. “I’m good enough,” you plead, trying to keep your voice quiet. “I’m good enough for you.”

“You’ve always been good enough,” this isn’t love making. This is fucking, and fucking hard. It’s claiming you. It’s possessive. It’s demanding. It’s what you need. “You’ve always been mine. And you will always be mine,” he grunts, and crashes his mouth into yours. Aggressive, and nearly cruel, and you love it. You love when this side of Andy comes out. When you are the only one that sees that darker side that lurks just below the surface. He saves himself losing his cool on you.

Something pissed him off today, and your pussy suffers in pleasure. Your body tightens. Keeling as you start to lose the ability to stand, letting his hands hold you up. He gives each nipple a hard squeeze, and you scream into his mouth. Swallowing every aggravated grunt. Losing the function to be human as pleasure soaks over you like a warm blanket.

Andy’s hands slap on your belly and in one hard, pounding, deep thrust he shoots his load into your belly, and you feel it expand to take every drop. Your walls flutter, milking every bit, while he pants into your mouth. Pulling off your lips, he rests his forehead on your shoulder. “I promise you, Doe, I will fuck a baby in you. And I will never stop trying. It will happen. And you can look that doctor in the eyes, and tell him that he was wrong. You’re mine, and I will see you pregnant. I will have every experience with you.”

“I believe you,” panting, he pulls his softening cock out of you, but a hand covers your mound. “What are you doing?”

“Keeping it in there, while I walk you to the bed. And then I’m going to watch myself, leak out of your hole, and I’m fingering it back in there. This is the one. You’ll see. This is it. This is our baby.”

“I hope so, but if it’s not, can you fuck me like that again?” Waddling back into the bedroom he pushes you onto the bed, and then he’s back in between your legs, covering your hole again. “Do you need a front row seat?”

“Yes,” you giggle, and Andy smiles, kissing a line from one side of your pelvis to the other. “It’s so sexy to know I’m in there. And I’m controlling it. And it’s sexy to see you push it out. It’s sexy to watch you swallow it after it’s been in you. It’s sexy to see me drying on your skin.”

You run your fingers through his hair, smiling down at him, “Andy, I want to see you watch me leak of you,” that mouth quirks up, and he moves his hand. Staring at you like this was a blockbuster movie, and you push it out. His breathing hitches as thick rivers of him spill out of you.

Instead of immediately pushing it back in, Andy gathers some on his finger. He lifts his hand, and starts writing across your pussy. My god, he looks like a teenage boy, smiling mischievously. His finger moving over you sweetly despite being covered in cum, “What are you spelling?”

“You can’t tell?”

“I felt an ‘A’.”

“Andy’s,” he chuckles again, before looking at your gaping hole. “This is the best thing. Your pussy is a mess,” and he slides the rest back in. Pumping his fingers into your wet heat a few times. “You slut. Are you getting off on this?”

“Mhmm. Make me come on your cum, daddy.”

“Such a slut,” he didn’t want this to last. He wants you to come, so he can make you clean him off. He pulls out all the stops. Curling his fingers, adding a third one, and you’re already lifting off the bed. Already leaking. So wet. Squelches echo into the bedroom, and it’s the best lullaby. “My personal slut.”

Your orgasm comes way too fast as the calluses of his fingers massage that special spot. Waves upon waves of pleasure crash into you, and just before you moan too loudly, you cover your mouth, letting your body reach that perfect height when everything falls down. Clenching your eyes closed, and when you open them, Andy is hovering over you with messy fingers.

“Open up,” you obey, and he holds out his fingers for you to suck every bit of your essences off him. Moaning just as much as he is. “That’s the one, Doe. I just fucked a baby in you. I just know it.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he cocks up an eyebrow, and your eyes get so heavy, “Because this,” you lay both hands on your belly. So sleepy. “This is Andy’s.”

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @peaches1958 @seitmai

@smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @midnightramyeoncravings @kmc1989

@pandaxnienke @kmm-fluv @rogersbarber @theinheriteddutchess @buckybarnesisdaddy @hisredheadedgoddess28

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saano · 10 months ago

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I had a dumb dream and I really feel like I need to tell someone so it's going on the tumblr, lmao.

So I don't recall what got me to this point, but from where the vivid memory starts is when someone recommends I watch a movie so I look it up on IMDb. The Movie title is Better.

Our scene opens past the muted skyline of the City of Baltimore and into a somber courtroom. A large man is standing in the defense; he’s built like a wall and his head is shiny. He is crying.

On a rich mahogany table in the center of the courtroom, bright coloured boxes of fruit snacks are being stacked.

"They say that Betty Crocker purposely made these fruit snacks taste better than the ones they did in collaboration with [name of cartoon]," says the defense attorney representing the man built like a wall. The attorney has bright red, curly hair, and wears a suit of primary colors below a painted face with a clown nose.

"Please," the crying man says. "My wife needs an answer. She doesn't have much time."

The attorney turns to his defendant with a sympathetic look, eyebrows scrunch in determination.

"I will find an answer to this, Mr [name]. I may have pulled the pranks and smashed pies into the faces of people in the past, but that was my duty as a clown. This is why I am the right person for this case."

The judge presiding the case looks down from his chair, his eyes squinting in thought. “We need to find Destiny,” he says. “He can get to the bottom of this.”

Destiny, we find out, is a culinary scientist.

#saano writes #dumb dream #weird dream #idk what are tags lmao

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littlegoldfinchh · 3 years ago

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Another reason why me going to law school is so funny because. I genuinely hate confrontation so much. I hate arguing, i will take everything personally and i can and will cry if I'm getting too frustrated

#i will also become hostile #like. i don't wanna argue with you i want to fistfight you in the parking lot #i dunno what my parents were thinking lmao #''oh our child is extremely conflict avoidant and has anxiety problems. she'll be a fine lawyer''#mother i will cry in the courtroom while attacking the defense attorney #rambling

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poptod · 4 years ago

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hello! i'd like to make an ahkmenrah x reader request! maybe present-day reader gets teleported back in time to when ahkmenrah was alive and they eventually get to the palace and stuff happens? maybe they tell him about modern life? and maybe reader is unnaturally beautiful to the ancient egyptians because humans evolve to be more attractive as time goes on so a person from our time would be hot shit 4,000 years ago? this is long lmao. thanks!

Notes: god ive always wanted to do this kind of storyline but i was worried about like,, logic and stuff getting in the way of the storyline. anyway! i was so fucking elated to receive this request. i got a bit carried away so apologies! WC: 3.2k

Okay. It isn't that bad.

Would you ever see your family again? Probably not, but you weren't ruling the possibility out.

Would you ever get to have sour patch kids again? Probably not. But even during the time you lived in 2020, you had eaten more concentrated sour patch kids flavor than all of the people around you combined.

This little village on the outskirts of ancient Thebes is hardly L.A.––though that's probably a good thing––and is small enough for you to know every inhabitant. Your shop there is small to suit the town, and well known ever since your arrival in this time.

They found you beside the river, thought you to be a gift from the Gods. You were hazy, though––whatever had so forcefully pushed you back in time had made your head spin, making you sick and unbalanced. So, when they asked if you did in fact come from the Gods, you had no way of defending yourself either way. Generally you've been denying it––they think you are a god, and the only way you've convinced them you're not a god is by saying you're a gift from them. It explains the way you look, unnaturally beautiful and alien amongst the more pure genetics of earlier humans.

Your shop is pretty simple. You make portraits from paint, more realistic than anything else that exists, and it only affirms their belief in your god-like status. Fortunately word seems to not have gotten out––the village has remained small, and no one from Thebes has run into you. Every now and then you get unreasonably anxious that a noble will find you and turn you into a slave. It's a worry most people around you have, so you find comfort in the fact that you're not the only one. Still, you're not quite accustomed to such an atmosphere––the thought of nobles and Kings noticing you still sends terrified aches into your stomach.

It's about two weeks in that it gets bad. People start to pass by the village, more than you would've thought, and they're all looking to trade goods, food, and information. The people of the village talk about you––you're something interesting, you can't deny that, but they don't know just how worried you are. Whenever you see someone you don't recognize outside your home, you refuse to come out.

Five days later and there's soldiers in your home, looking over your paintings on their way back to Memphis from conquering the realm of Kush. You hold a deep contempt for them––you don't know all that much about history, but you know how Egyptian soldiers and Pharaohs reigned power over the people of Kush.

The soldiers aren't all that worrying. What really gets your heart pounding is the final man to enter your hut; a man bearing a crown and a long sword, with golden braces around his wrists and a chest plated in green scales. Your fingers dig into the wood of your counter when he notices you. The crown on his head––it's the crown of both upper and lower Egypt.

This is a Royal.

"Where did you learn this skill?" He asks you, eyes trained on one of your bigger drawings. It's just on papyrus––not for sale––and hung on the wall as a display of your talent.

"I spent a little while travelling the world," you answer. Technically, growing up in the modern world was a bit like travelling the world; you got to see the cultures and practices of many, many people. "The rest of it's practice."

"The peasants here, they... they claim you came from the Nile. Is that true?"

"Well... that is where I was found," you say carefully, but you can already tell you've fucked up. The look on his face is indescribable beyond the fact that he's pleased.

"How would you feel coming back to the capital with me?" He offers to you, setting his hands on the counter and leaning forward. "I think my father would much like to meet you."

"I – I don't think I'm really cut out for -"

"Nonsense," he dismisses with a smile, taking your hand from its' spot on the wood. "We shall teach you proper writing skills, give you a beautiful home, and the salary isn't horrid either."

You can't just say no. If you do, he's going to ask questions––he's going to get confused, and he's going to get suspicious. No one would turn down an opportunity like this; free schooling, free housing, and much more money for something you already do.

"Well... alright," you say quietly, looking to the home around you that you built with the help of the other villagers.

"Wonderful. My name is Kamun."

He's not a very nice person, you come to find. Or perhaps he's just not your tastes––the soldiers seem to like him well enough, at least the ones who aren't completely subordinate to him, but his attitude towards women and poor people is scathing to say the least. Otherwise he's very amusing, with a good sense of humor and quite generous with his food and wine as long as he gets his fill of it first.

The boat back to Memphis, where the royal family currently stays, is a long ride filled with various entertainments. It's clear these are not soldiers accustomed to rough conditions––the dancing women and flowing beer is enough to tell you that. Instead, you surmise these are faux war-heroes; people adored in their hometown for doing nothing but intimidating others in a foreign country. They try to get cushy with you, soften you up to their words and touches. It doesn't work.

He keeps you close to him. You let him do it, sort of––it's better than telling him no. Better than starting a ruckus. Then again, avoiding a ruckus is what got you here in the first place, standing before the doors of the courtroom where a false God on earth rules the Nile.

"Father, I bring you a gift from Thebes," says Kamun, pushing you forward by the small of your back. You can't bring yourself to meet the Pharoah's eye, so you fall to your knees and bow.

Everyone is staring at you. You don't look normal, and they all know it, and you know it. You could cry from the heat of their eyes on your back.

One of Kamun's soldiers steps forwards, handing the Pharaoh and his wife several of the drawings they'd taken from you. Silence passes as the two scan your work.

"How did you achieve such a mirror of the human face?" The Pharaoh asks in a slow, deep voice that sounds as he looks––old, weathered, wise.

"They came from the Nile," Kamun answers for you, and murmurs take the crowd by storm. You, on the other hand, feel your heartbeat increase in massive increments, speeding your already uneven breath. "A gift from the Gods, the locals said."

"I can't – I am not magic," you rush out, hoping your clarification clears you of any responsibility to the Pharaoh. You know he rules everything––if he says you are to stay here, you have no choice, and you don't like it here. Too many people. "I cannot give you anything, my King."

"I think you're lying," says a voice, its' tone soft and a velvet low. It catches you off guard, brings you to raise your head and meet the eyes of someone you don't know; a young man dressed in gold beside the Pharaoh's throne.

You almost lose your breakfast as your eyes bulge, your mind instantly recognizing him and connecting the dots. You were, by far, not a historian, but you knew a fair amount of Egyptian history––namely a family in the Old Kingdom who was headed by the Pharaoh Merenkahre. The remaining statues and busts of the King and his son are astonishingly accurate, and there can be no doubt in your head.

That being said, there also can't be any reaction on your face. You try your best to reign your expression in.

"I..."

Actually, you do have something to offer now. You know the names––memorized the history, committed each event to memory, and now you can pull their lifestory off from the top of your head. Wouldn't that be valuable to a King; a seer of the future, to predict the rise and fall of the economy and the coming armies. Besides, you can't just say he's wrong. That'd be treasonous to them. So you have to agree you're hiding something, come up with an excuse as to why you hid it, and it proves harder than you thought. You're quickwitted, though––it got you away from the villager's wrath, and it will promote you to noble living now.

You hide a smirk beneath a calm expression as you address the younger prince.

"They gifted me foresight," you say quietly, pretending as though it hurts you to tell the truth, "but told me to never inform others."

"You are in the presence of Ra once more," the Pharaoh reminds you.

"And others," you point out. "I would... it would be better to discuss such matters.. in private."

Detailed information about already-past events is enough to sway him to believe you. The Pharaoh is surprisingly easy to convince, and with a few, meaningless predictions of the future, he gives you housing in his own palace. Kamun looks proud of himself––puffs his chest out in front of his father and earns no compliment. Ire laces his glare as it falls upon his brother, Ahkmen, praised for his ability to see through your obvious lie.

The Pharaoh asks his younger son to guide you to your room. Apparently it's closer to his room than it is to Kamun's, and evening is approaching fast. The walk there, while short, is marked by a conversation composed mainly of Ahkmen's questions and your answers. When the two of you reach your room, he doesn't leave––actually, he follows you in and locks the door.

There's nothing more terrifying than a man with unchecked power, and there is no one watching you.

No fail safe.

You gulp.

"I know you're still not telling the truth," he says, and though it dismisses several of your worries it still begs the question; how did he notice? "Just thought I'd spare you the embarrassment in front of my father, but my generosity ends there. Now I won't hurt you, and I won't tell anyone––I'm just curious."

Oh thank fuck. He's not going to rape you.

"I'm not Egyptian," you blurt out.

"Obviously," he interrupts, but you glare him into raising his hands defensively.

"I'm from the future."

He stares at you. For a minute. You know this because you count it––he just pauses right in his stance, doesn't move, and stares at you for a whole minute like you just told him you're made of gold.

"I'm sorry, what?" He says, laughter suddenly wracking his body.

"It's how I know what's going to happen to your family," you say, hoping he'll believe you. Otherwise this handsome, seemingly-nice man is going to think you're insane for the rest of time. "I studied your family for years as a side-hobby, I don't know how to predict the future for anything but you and your father."

His laughing pauses, or lightens at least; enough for him to say, "actually?"

"Yes," you say, completely serious. This seems to gain his interest once more. "You have to help me. I know at some point people are going to ask me questions about other things and I'm not going to have an answer."

"Just do what all our priests do," he says with a chuckle.

"What do they do?"

"Lie," he says. You can't stop the grin that spreads across your face from the stupid joke, and when he sees that a shit-eating grin spreads across his own face, delighted he could make you laugh.

"Yes, well... I guess I could do that," you mumble in a laugh.

"There's no need for you to worry. Now that I know the truth, I can help you," he says, offering you something that takes nearly all the anxiety out of your brain. After two days travel with a prince, it feels like it took 50 pounds off your shoulders.

"Thank you, so much," you chuckle in relief.

"Of course. I do have questions though, and I want you to answer them."

"Anything."

These questions of his, they come at all times––almost at a constant rate when he takes you on long walks, which he does often. He passes it off to his father as an interest in your beauty, and it apparently works. This little lie also helps you enormously in avoiding the romantic advances of many of the people you come into contact with. You're still not quite sure how it works, since Egyptians supposedly had a strong sense of patriotism, but you look rare and they idolize it. Every eye that falls upon you sees something beautiful, and you can't understand it.

At least Ahkmen is normal. He doesn't talk about you being beautiful. Ever.

And it kind of makes you sad.

"Would you say people on the whole are happier in the future or in the past?" He asks you, his words surrounded by the warmth of a summer day in Egypt.

Birds chatter loudly in the trees around you, singing in the humid air that marks the mating season for many of them. The flowers that surround you are already familiar––you thought it would take longer for you to commit the shapes and colors to memory, but here you are. Dressed in gold-laced silk and turquoise necklaces.

"I think the happiness of a population is dependent entirely on the circumstances surrounding it," you say. Sometimes your answers relate more to the human condition than the progress of time on the human race; he likes these answers, too, so you tell him exactly what you think. "Six thousand years from now, there are times of great misery. One is even called the Great Depression, but five years before that were some of the most prosperous times my country had ever seen. The same cycle is evident here."

"So.. great misery and great happiness come in waves?" He asks, pace slowing as he tries to understand what you're saying. You pause along the pathway, allowing him space to think.

"It's a pattern, actually. When the economy goes up, it will always come down. Recessions happen right after economical booms. And yes," you say before he can ask, "a time of unease will follow the prosperity of the current years. But it won't be for a time yet."

"Will it happen in my lifetime?"

He's murdered about three years from now. You think you might be able to stop it, but if you do, it'll alter history quite a lot. Either way, he wouldn't live long enough to see the recession the building of the great pyramids caused.

"No," you say. "But I'd prepare for it anyway, if only to keep your citizens safe."

"Of course. You... you are a great scholar," he tells you, resuming the slow walk down the shore of the Nile.

"Oh. Uh, thank you," you mumble as a blush fills your cheeks.

"What did you do in your time?"

"I was an artist, but I spent a lot of time giving lectures on the role of autistic people in ancient Egypt. Autistic people are often timekeepers," you say, and you know he'll figure out what you mean. Autistic isn't a term here, but many timekeepers of these ancient times were autistic, and considered highly by their societies.

"You might be able to give lectures again, if you'd like," he suggests. "People would come from far and wide to hear you speak. And you've got things to say that I know many scholars will find interesting."

"Mmm," you wince, "I kind of want to stay away from altering history too much."

"Oh, yes. My apologies," he says in a softer voice.

"It's alright," you say. "I'm glad you think I would be a good choice for that kind of thing, though."

He chuckles bashfully as he turns to the ground, scuffing his sandals as he walks.

Ahkmen is sweet––much sweeter than any of his family members, and you find yourself appreciating that every time you pass by his room. You pass his door often, always stopping a second to contemplate the tall, wooden doors. He's on the pathway between your room and the library.

Most of the time he's not in his room. Actually, you can usually find him in the library––there or outside in the markets or near the stalls. Today is different; he's been missing all day, and only when you walk the path back to your room do you hear his voice, talking to himself in his bedroom.

"They're bombarded with just such compliments, though. I can't – I can't stand out!"

"Or maybe you should, because you still haven't said a single thing yet and they probably think you're completely uninterested and that's why they aren't noticing you?"

"You and your... logic," Ahkmen spits.

"Come complaining when you kiss them under my advice."

As you attempt to peek through the crack in the door you stumble, knocking your hand against the wood. You barely hesitate before knocking again––cool and collected, smooth to slip into another lie.

"Oh! Hello, um – hi," he says awkwardly, slipping out of the room when he sees you. He quickly closes the door behind him, careful to keep you from seeing the other person in his room, but you can't bring yourself to care about the stranger.

Think of an excuse, why am I here?

"Oh, that's... I like your flower," he comments softly, eyes flickering between your eyes and the flower tucked into your hair. You'd forgotten about it, but raised your hand to touch the petals as you smiled. The perfect excuse

"Thank you. I thought you might like it, so I," you take it out of your hair and grab his hand, holding his palm upwards, "wanted to show you.. um, here."

Setting the flower in his hand, you curl his fingers around its' stem and push his hands back into his chest. He stares at you for a moment, confused by your strange behavior, but accepting of your gift anyway. You know him well enough now––he'd never decline a gift from you.

"A white iris," he tells you in a lofty tone. "A symbol of the dead. Funny it looks so lively on you."

You need to get out of here before your chest combusts.

"I need to go now, but I'll see you this evening, yes?" You ask, stepping instinctively closer. He doesn't back away.

"Of course. And, um," he takes your hands, keeps you where you stand as he slips the flower back behind your ear, "keep it. I want to see it on you at dinner."

He's close to you––close enough that it gets hard to distinguish his breath from your own, when you started holding his hand. When his other came up to your face. When he leans in and kisses your forehead. It's barely there, just barely, but there's no mistaking the soft plush, the affection clear behind gentle, precise movements.

You rush away the second he lets your hands go.

#ahkmenrah x reader #rami malek

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nick-nellson · 3 years ago

Text

i was tagged by @la-reine-des-enfers thank you 🥰

Movie Survey

Rules: You can only use a movie once

Favorite Movie: rent

Favorite Sequel: shrek 2, an absolute classic

Favorite 80s movie: the breakfast club💖

Favorite Animated Movie: the lion king

Favorite Christmas Movie: the muppet christmas carol

Favorite Comedy: hot fuzz

Favorite Courtroom Movie: legally blonde

Favorite Gangster Movie: the only slightly gangster movie i’ve seen is bugsy malone lmao

Favorite Horror Movie: i’m cheating it’s either scream or IT

Favorite Sports Movie: BASEketball

Favorite Tom Hanks Movie: forrest gump

Favorite War Movie: hacksaw ridge is the only one that comes to mind

Most Overrated Movie: wall-e

Movie that makes you remember your childhood: toy story

Movie that makes you cry: les miserables

Movie you can watch over and over: pride and prejudice

Movie with the best soundtrack: guardians of the galaxy volume one

Most embarrassing movie you love: not another teen movie

tagging: @dindjxrin, @brooksdavis, @michaelwheelers, @william-byers, @sence8, @wyattknopes, @hidden-joy, @chrissiewatts, @kieumy, @delitefullychaotic and anyone else who wants to play 🤗

#tag games #also thank you for tagging me in the other one but i don't really read!

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potatotrash0 · 4 years ago

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Okay so!!! DESPAIR Ult Murder Komaeda now :))

Things pretty much go as normal. Enoshima fucks things up, Hajime becomes Izuru, etc etc etc

During Despair, he ended up killing nondiscriminatory for a while. (Seeing Makoto and his killing game changed that eventually) He saw you, he got you, he may or may not have dismembered the corpse, he left. He didn’t cut off his arm in this one, but there was a Little bit of fucking himself up. As a treat.

(After waking up from the simulation, he found quite a few scars, most noticeably on his face. The mask he wears on his “patrols” is one he made just for himself, the base of it being a gas mask. The part above it that covers his face (it only covers the right half in a sort of crescent shape), the eyehole is the top X-like shape of the first kanji for hope (希).The rest is smaller and written beneath it in red. He has the X scarred over top of his eye (though his eye was thankfully not damaged or exchanged for Enoshima’s), and the rest of the kanji also below it, though he can thank his eye-bags for obscuring that usually)

(Also Towa went a lot different. He didn’t collaborate with the WOH, but he was definitely present there. Mostly trailing after Izuru, but he did have a good time getting caught up in the “game” and causing problems)

Anyways. So the simulation!

The prologue goes about the same, minus the Talent Complex (Ult Murderer Komaeda judges people by their actions, not by their talent, though he definitely expects more of people with talent) and the hope rambles (saves those for his vigilante time). Chapter one, however, goes DIFFERENTLY. Komaeda HATES meaningless killings. Every single trial makes him Mad. He is more than determined to sus out the killer, and, honestly, he would do the executions if Monokuma didn’t. Feral bastard would 100% lunge across the courtroom. They’re lucky he doesn’t have his favorite knives, though he is a bit sad about that. (Favorite items are the knives just for that purpose. Comfort Item)

They didn’t lose as much trust in him because of that, though they were more wary of him because of his fury. It was kind of scary how quick he could turn against someone, not to mention he could probably kill someone if he wanted to. (He definitely could, they just don’t know. He didn’t tell them he was the Ultimate Murderer because that’s a horrible way to introduce yourself)

So when he gets the file? Oh does he SNAP.

He’s even more ruthless in the fourth trial. Practically snarling. He keeps scratching his nails on his podium and on his arms and cracking his knuckles. Has to find something to do with his hands because oh they ITCH for his knives. He tears into everyone for the slightest mistake (Kazuichi cries) and finishes the trial a lot faster than Hajime usually does.

Chapter five? He tries to convince Monokuma to let him just kill them all himself. He nearly sways him, but Monokuma decides “hm. No. Kinda anticlimactic lmao just for that you can only kill one person now I’m making a rule ❤️”

So his plan proceeds as it did in canon, except the threat is similar to the one from chapter one in, like, regular SDR2. “You’re all disgusting, I’m going to kill all of you. This is justice. This is what you deserve. I built my name and my life on protecting hope and working as its hands and teeth, and I refuse to stand by and allow you to go on living. Only one of you deserves to live. Unfortunately, you’re a necessary sacrifice. I’ve planted bombs, enough to sink these islands and become the next Atlantis, and the only way to stop them is to find them. You have less than a day.”

Working as hope’s hands and TEETH? Pretty big giveaway. Sonia knows who he is immediately. Akane tries to stop him from leaving the restaurant anyways, and he just tosses her to the floor, resist the urge to stomp on her, and leaves. Panic ensues and Hajime is very very very upset. He holds himself together until they find the body.

The rest of the sim goes as usual! Fuck Enoshima.

Moving on! Post-NWP is the happiest time for them. Therapy, reconciliation, Komaeda has some sense beaten into his stupid little mop head, Hajime accepts Izuru and comes to terms with his identity, they live together, they get at least one gecko, it’s great. Funny that this is the one with the happier ending huh?

I see Feral Komaeda and I’m thriving imagining it?? God he’d be terrifying, I’d probably also cry with Kazuichi I will not lie, but also whoa is that something I’d wanna see hhhhhhhh

Anyway gecko dads Komahina :OO

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macneiceisms · 4 years ago

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A Grate Full of Ash?

a grate full of ash is a 100k+ draco/ginny harry potter fic that ive been writing for the last decade and will one day hopefully see the light of day lmao. draco and ginny try to break a curse about five years after the end of the war.

Ginny sighed and opened the drawer by the sink to look for the tub of Erase Paste for her bruise in a mess of forgotten combs, takeout menus, and half broken broom clippers.

“…back to the crime report, Ministry officials are still investigating the raid on a residence in Bath earlier this week that led to the seizure of items…”

Ginny’s hand found something sticky at the bottom of the drawer. With a grimace, she removed her arm and cast a summoning charm on the bruise paste. The pile of old Daily Prophets on the kitchen table whooshed to the ground, scattering on the linoleum. Ginny quickly caught the chartreuse tub in her hand. She cracked open the lid and a foul smell wafted out, somewhere between vomit and spun sugar. Every time she opened the noxious tub, she thought the smell could not get any worse, and every time she swore solemnly that she would take it straight back to George and demand a reformulation.

Ginny turned her head from the stench. She pulled off her sweaty jumper, cold air biting her damp skin. Her right shoulder sported a red lump roughly the size and shape of a bludger. Gingerly, she patted the edge of her bruise with chartreuse paste. Relief came at once, and Ginny — as she did every time — forgot the smell.

The red edge of her bruise receded, and she dabbed more paste on. Sweat cooled on her skin, and Ginny shivered in just her undershirt. She sealed the tub of bruise paste, set it back in its drawer, and pulled the jumper back on to warm up. It still felt damp.

Ginny sat on the kitchen chair, ready to put her feet up on the warm radiator, only to freeze at the front-page headline of the Prophet at her feet.

Lucius Malfoy Passes Away, Leaving Estate, Son, and Wife Behind.

Lucius Malfoy’s picture smiled up at her tiredly from the corner of the front page.

Lucius Malfoy Passes Away.

Lucius Malfoy was dead.

She picked the paper off the floor, scanning yesterday’s date in the top and the words passed away the evening of October 3rd, 2004. Lucius Malfoy had been dead three days.

A man who valued his family despite the costs, Ginny read.

He will be remembered for his part in the war as a bigot, a terrorist, and a close supporter of Tom Riddle, but also for his public remorse for those actions. He will have a lasting contribution in the Ministry’s numerous public works projects, including the Percival Home for Magical Orphans. These were and are complicated times, and good deeds are not negated by bad ones, as is true vice versa.

It sounded like something Harry would have written, if Harry had any real talent with words.

She flipped the Prophet to the second page where the story continued. She read on about Lucius Malfoy’s crimes, and the names he gave up, his endeavors to charity, and then the turn in his health.

Following a year-long battle with the long-term effects of cursing, the late Mr. Malfoy died peacefully with his wife and son at his side.

Ginny read that sentence again, then another time. His son. She searched the page, and there it was: a photograph of Draco Malfoy and his mother at the end of the Summer of Trials. Both stood blinking, with apparent boredom, in front of the doors of a courtroom. He looked more like Lucius in this photo than he had as a boy.

Ginny traced her finger across the photograph, so different from the Draco Malfoy seared into her head all these years — a thin, sick boy, crying on a conjured imitation of a hospital wing cot, put there by her own hand. Where had he been? What was he doing with his life? Had he moved on, forgotten the war, all scars healed over?

Lucius Malfoy, dead. And, apparently Draco Malfoy was still alive. Maybe he was murdered, Ron liked to whisper conspiratorially the first couple years after Malfoy’s vanishing act. Enough people hate his family for getting off with no punishment. Ginny scanned the article again, but it said nothing about where he worked, or where he might live, or where he’d been.

Almost six years since she’d glimpsed him leaving the room for the Wizengamot shrouded by reporters and photographers and ministry officials. Less than a year after that photograph, the Holyhead Harpies played their fateful game against Puddlemere United in Ilkley Moor that put Gwenog in custody. Less than a year after that photograph, Ginny got all her N.E.W.T.s.

Less than a year after that photograph, Draco Malfoy disappeared from Wizarding Britain. No familiar blonde head at the memorials, nor even at the Ministry event unveiling of the Percival Home for Magical Orphans, funded by Malfoy’s own exonerated father.

Streams of rain splattered the window above the sink. Through the small window, the tips of her neighbor’s roofs peeked out through the fog. Every gust of wind rattled the windowpanes, muffling the sound of the terrier yapping next door. The radio droned on.

“…if anyone sees any suspicious or unidentified items, report this to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement…”

#my writing #drinny #wip ask game #fic: a grate full of ash

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phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess · 4 years ago

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Any tips for an aspiring social worker

+Be aware of any of your own trauma. Dont be one of the people who think they can do therapy AND get a degree at the same time. You will burn out, there are hundreds every year. Please dont be the person in lectures who takes yup 45 minutes crying over past trauma every session; you need to seek counselling for that from a professional who can help, not from your newbie classmates.

You may think its an exaggeration, but No. Unfortunately, no.

This ties in to your own biases, what you are likely to take to heart if the person fails, etc. You need to work with your supervisor around clients that may trigger something for you; or reconsider the role you are aiming for, etc.

+Have personal skills, you will be making and repairing relationships often. You can’t be someone who is super introverted and unable to start relationships with the clients; because often you are going to be the one doing the Hard Talks about difficult subjects. It doesnt mean you have to be a drill sargeant, but it means you need to have the confidence to talk with anyone.

If you’re a bit shy, work on talking to people and even looking into little courses. You’re not needing qualifications in public speaking, but you do need to have yourself in a position wherein you can talk to someone, even a whole family, or even lawyers, and police. Via phone, video, face-to-face, etc.

+Have work clothes and home clothes. Also court clothes, if you work in areas that need it.

Wear smart casual, you need to look presentable but not be like, dripping with diamonds and playing ‘rich person ministers to the Poors’. It happens, they get told off.

DO NOT WEAR SKIN TIGHT CLOTHES. Or ripped skinny jeans, or have your cleavage/buttcrack hanging out. Please. Strapless backs and short shorts also no.

Students sometimes turn up in this and it is dangerous. Especially the ladies. Sometimes you work with people who are very dangerous, who will interpret clothing for consent, and/or have incredibly low respect for women. When something happens, they will point to the workplace dresscode and absolve themselves of the situation.

Do not wear dangly earrings, scarves or thick necklaces/anything you do not want taken. And if in a hospital role, there are additional rules about what can and cannot be worn (bare below the elbow rule).

Also, enclosed shoes. IF you are in a service that assists families with dysregulated lives, or in the hospitals, etc, you will have strict policies about footwear for your safety.

+Get the flu shot. Trust me. Do it. You talk to so many people, by the time one catches a cold and you start showing symptoms, you’ve seen like twenty people and they all have families.

+Be used to working to tight deadlines. They are always there, esp in hospital social work where you legit have to account for every minute of the day and patient seen on this awful little system.

We are understaffed in most areas, and you will need to work hard.

BUT, self-care is imperative. Even if it is only making sure you leave before 9pm each night lmao.

+Be able to let insults go. You are going to be dealing with people often in the worst part of their life, be it mental health, in the justice system, having their kids removed, being disabled and persistently denied assistance, having significant alcohol/drug concerns, people who have experience extreme sexual harms or domestic violence, people who are being stalked, people in crisis etc.

At some point someone will call you some horrific things, or threaten you, or make nasty comments about you, etc. They may try to make constant complaints, etc. And as frustrating as that is, you have to understand their frustration and anger and fear.

You do not have to sit there and listen to them swear at you, that’s not what this means. It means that when someone is heightened and calling you a cunt, or something more inventive, you don’t give them the reaction they want; you can acknolwedge that they are upset/etc, or give them space by ending the call/leaving the room.

Think about when something happened for you and it was the Worst and you swore or threatened, etc. When you are calm, it seemed ridiculous, didn’t it? But that was you processing big, complicated feelings in the only way that felt right at the time. Same for them.

+You need to be aware that some clients have done or experienced terrible things, but you need to be open to the individual within the trauma. For example, someone may not be showing their emotional distress or pain or grief etc in the way you think they should, so you might discount it. When, someone who has gotten to know the client is aware that they tend to do ____ behaviour when they are having flashbacks, which is not a behaviour normally associated with the trauma.

Also, biases again. Just because someone is on drugs and denying to you that they have a problem, does not mean some part of them isn’t aware they do have one. Relapses are common. Soemtimes it is about discussing what was happening for them this week that made them use again, what they could try next time, if they are using their support networks. And never putting them in the Hopeless box.

If you are really struggling with a client, lean on your team, talk to your supervisor and see what else can be done or if there is another social worker with more experience who can be involved even for a short-term intervention.

+Don’t throw jargon and insider terms around when talking to clients, it’s rude. Explain things, use pauses so they can think.

+Look into the primary populations of your area/the area you intend to work in. Are there a high level of Indigenous persons? Refugees? People whose first language isn’t english and may need extra help with engagment?

What are your immediate thoughts (learned stigmata/stereotypes) about these peoples? How can you learn more?

In Aus, we work closely with Indigenous communities and agencies around social work matters. Making sure everyone is supported, heard, and can understand the concerns being raised/what is needed to help the client move forwards. There are many people out there who see this as ‘coddling’ or ‘unfair to non-Indigenous people’; but it is simply making certain that Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people are on the same footing as any non-Indigenous client.

And that cultural options are put on the table, such as having a family member step up to take in a child whilst the parent is not well; or trying a community-focused approach to helping with a drug concern, and using the right agencies so that they have appropriate supports.

Would it be fair to have a non-english speaking client in a courtroom without an interpreter? Why? Would you claim that they should know english and the entire legal system bc they were in your country? Of course not, that’s absurd. But some people think that way.

Would it be fair to ask someone in a wheelchair to file a form on the top floor of a building with no elevators, by 5pm, or lose their home? Why? Would you think they are complaining or ‘lying’ if they were able to mobilise a few steps without the chair, on a good day? That they were being ‘lazy’ and ‘deserved’ to lose their housing? Of course not, that’s absurd. But some people think that way.

When the military put men into service in the wars, they made anyone who could pass an english test an officer and the rest priovates who would die first in battle. Was this fair? Why not? Because it ensured the rich white dudes with private tutors got the best spots (totally unqualified) while the poor, poc and refugees were used as cannon fodder. Many could have been good officers if the test was about competence, but it wasn’t. Some people feel this was fair.

There are still people who think they ‘did the right thing’ whilst participating in the Stolen Generations; but then, they also thought taking babies from single mothers was appropriate too. That women couldn’t vote or be trusted with money, that is was ‘kinder’ to take a stillborn away and dispose of it without the mother ever seeing... rather than let her hold them, and say goodbye the way she needed to. Not to mention the english children shipped over to Aus to be used as little slaves and cruelly abused by Priests and Nuns and ‘upright christian citizens’. Not to mention lobotomies for when people were too emotional/refusing to play the game. Forcing hormone treatments on men and women to stop their homosexuality or sexually abusing them to ‘fix them’. Not to mention all the Twilight births nonsense where they tried to remove the pregnant person from the equation entirely, and it kept causing post partum depression. Not to mention... Not to Mention... NOT TO MENTION...

We have a lot of broken little old men and women and nonbinary (who do or don’t realise it) now, because of these “helpful interventions”.

You need to be aware of the harm that has been done, and aware of your own practice, so this damage can’t happen again and again.

Understand that your perspective and the worries/concerns you hold are often different to those of the client, because you are individuals who grew up in very different ways.

And remember, being a rich white person in a high paying job with good social standing doesn’t mean you can’t be charged for drug possession or have child safety knock on your door about the bruises you leave. Never think people are Above being awful, and never Assume people are because they are poor, a different colour, have not had your advantages, or have a disability/poor mh or addiction.

Clients are people, like you. Never think that you are above needing help too, one day. We all do, humans are built to rely on the group, on the social bonds we make from the minute we are born.

+Do you overreact to things? Sometimes a client will tell you about something that happened years ago, but they may phrase it like it happened yesterday (because of how it has returned to their mind, etc), and if you were to overreact to that immediately it can break the relationship/cause harm. You could say, “I can hear that this is very distressing for you, thank you for telling me about this difficult event in your life. Would it be alright if I asked you a follow-up question about when this occurred?” Sometimes a client will disclose things to you, and the goal is to remain in the conversation. They do a lot of this preparation at university, but you also need to have a personal ability to not panic off the bat.

+Ask yourself, is there anyone I would refuse to work with... and then examine Why. How would you react if a person like that came onto your caseload?

+Do not become overly emotionally invested in a client. It will be said in training over and over again, but you need to have clear boundaries; and being too invested in their success can hinder your ability to provide appropriate assessments for the client. Meaning they are not getting the care they need; which can sometimes be a harsh conversation about how you can see they are trying, but have backslid recently, so what is happening?

+Look at any internal biases and prejudices you may have. Did you have extreme mental health concerns that may make you feel more sympathetic to a parent or client, and this could blind you to the other concerns present? Didyou grow up rich and now have unrealistic expectations of what is necessary to be a good person? Do you think that all ‘those people’ should ______ ? Why? Question yourself. If you find yourself stereotyping or pigeonholing someone as ‘just another ____ trying to _____’ stop. Think about it. Where did you get that idea?

+Be aware of professional boundaries, do not be friends with the clients, but don’t be cold. Always let your bosses know about potential conflicts of interest to protect you.

Like, don’t loan the client $5, don’t hang out at the cinema because they’re ‘a great person’, etc.

And be aware that you have more power in this dynamic, so you have to be careful not to abuse it.

+You need to be good at record keeping, and honest. Everything you do is documents, referrals, reports, affidavits, forms, and a million little notes for this and that. It is imperative you are accurate, use the format required, and be honest. If you saying “Have you tried not taking drugs?” to a client sends them into a rage, you don’t write “Client was heightened and threatened me without reason at today’s session” in the notes. That’s putting a knife in their back.

”Client was triggered when I, the practitioner, made an inappropriate remark (”Have you tried not taking drugs?”) today. They told me I am a “fucking whore who should kill myself” and threw their chair across the room before leaving the building. I have discussed this matter with my supervisor, and we are going to call Client at 3pm today, to provide a formal apology for this statment and attempt to repair the professional working relationship, as they have been making significant progress with this agency until today’s event.” Whole scenario, tells the real story. You will make mistakes, but it is about being able to accept this and move forwards.

Accurate documentation is a must, may be needed for court.

+You will need to have a good memory. A good way of keeping little notes to unlock the full encounter when you write casenotes and reports.

+Make connections. Every client will need a support system around them, and if you have an inroads with different agencies, it will help them out. For example, if your client has drug concerns, then being aware of the agencies and counsellors in the region broadens their safety net.

Knowing the practitioners gives you someone to ask for professional advice around, say “Good Morning Kim, I know your agency handles Centrelink application often for non-english speaking clients. I have a client who is new to the country and is struggling to complete the financial aid forms, they speak Language. Would I be able to refer them to your agency, or will they need a more specific agency who handle Language -speaking persons?”

You have, in a deidentified way, sought help for a client through a known agency and can now refer them pending the answer. Etc.

+If you are not sure about something, ask your supervisor. They have several years on you, and almost all areas of social work prescribes to one or another Acts (legal requirements) which they are required to have a strong grasp on.

Get to know any legislation in the area you are aiming for. This will help immensely.

+Doing a degree gets you two fieldwork practicals, in different areas. These really help you identify which area you want to go for; your main goal going into a degree may not be the one you settle on. Many people have an idea where they want to work and change their minds after their placements, or really feel connected to a different area, etc.

+Mostly, be certain this is what you want.

Have your own support network.

Be aware that you must uphold confidentiality, at all times. No posting to social media people, please...

Be aware that in small communities you are likely shopping at the same place as clients. Ask them how they want you to react when you see each other in public (eg. please don’t acknowledge me, or happy to give a wave) so they feel comfortable.

Don’t disclose personal information to a client. There’s a difference between “Yes, I can see that you are having trouble with baby; I recall they get quite fussy at teething time, have you tried a cold biting ring?” and “My son, Chadley, is eight but when he was two he used to just keep biting the furniture and his poor teacher, Mrs Allyways! At least he’s grown out of it now, but I just know Bailey’s going into that phase soon, the dangers of having kids a few years apart!”

I know who your child had as a teacher, and now the school as well, esp if its a small town. I know you have two children, their names, and your last name so I could go get them from school if I wanted to. I know you work until 5pm, and someone could pick them up.

Etc.

Mostly, be a decent human being who does their best and doesn’t walk in thinking they’re better than everyone, and you can do okay. Have a good support network, use them, and seek help if you struggle.

Uni is drawn out and a bit boring, but you will get a lot from it (even if you only see it in hindsight).

#dunno #kind of on the spot there for this one #Anonymous #also if you were the fucking nightmare bully bitch at school who is now thinking they're a caregiver type who should be a nurse or social w #the answer is NO

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