#Foster System

[curtis-brothers-hug]

Look. Darry hitting Ponyboy is obviously, unequivocally wrong, and we shouldn’t make excuses for it or justify it.

But outbursts of aggression or violence can be a symptom of trauma and PTSD. And we really need to stop completely leaving that out of the debates of “is Darry a good or bad guardian/person?”

Something many in the fandom forget, despite it being a central aspect of Darry’s character, despite it being a central aspect of Pony’s character arc, despite Pony reminding us explicitly and repeatedly in his narration - is that Darry’s behaviour when we see him in canon is out of character.

Ponyboy could not be more clear about this. “Me and Darry got along before mom and dad died.” “Nobody in our family ever hit me before. Nobody.” The palpable shock of all three brothers, including Darry himself, after Darry hit Pony.

One of the main reasons why Pony finds Darry’s behaviour so distressing is because it’s new. It’s different. It’s unexpected. It came seemingly out of nowhere. He’s not used to it and it’s caught him horribly off guard. It’s yet another cataclysmic change that Pony’s had to deal with as an unexpected byproduct of his parents’ deaths. He hasn’t had a lifetime to inoculate himself against Darry yelling at him or hitting him, like Johnny or Dally or Steve with their parents. If Darry was an abusive person, Pony would be used to these behaviors. He might say something like, “Darry was always like this but now mom and dad aren’t here to protect me.” But no. Darry yelling at Pony all the time is out of character. Darry hitting Pony is out of character. Again, it doesn’t excuse the behavior, but it does raise alarm bells and give us some very important clues.

You have some acting violently in a way that is recent, sudden, and out of character. That’s the profile of someone who is suffering from trauma.

All three brothers suffered their parents’ deaths, but it’s safe to assume Darry was the one who had to identify their mangled bodies. Darry was the one who had to prepare those bodies for burial. Do you think Darry doesn’t see that image when he closes his eyes? Do you think he let Soda and Pony see that? If Pony had seen his parents’ dead bodies, he would have mentioned it. The whole point of the story is that even after his parents’ death, Pony doesn’t see the full extent of death and violence and dead bodies with his own eyes. Because Darry took care of it for him.

Darry is not only acting out of character during canon, but he’s most likely also acting on impulses that he can’t fully control and hasn’t been given the tools to do so. Mental health and trauma therapy were not really a thing in the 1960s, and even if the Curtis’ lived in the modern era, they still wouldn’t have the money and resources to access that help. Maybe a modern Darry Curtis could self diagnose through Google searches, if he ever found time, but that’s about it.

Not to mention the societal and material circumstances at play. You can’t insist that the story is about class and socioeconomics - which it is - but make Darry the sole exception, and act like his wrongdoings alone exist in a vacuum.

The whole point of Darry hitting Pony is that it’s the culmination of events, a breaking point, that is a direct result of their class and their poverty. Darry would never have hit Pony if he wasn’t at the end of his rope, not just due to their parents’ death, but all the socioeconomic conditions resulting from it.

Darry hit his breaking point when Pony came home late, not because he was mad that Pony broke his tyrannical rule, but because Pony breaking curfew could have disastrous, life altering consequences. He was worried sick not knowing where Pony was, but he couldn’t do anything about that, because if he called the police, Pony and Soda would be taken away and tossed in the system. Because Darry’s custody is constantly under threat, because they’re low class and poor. And he’s already running on fumes from the financial ruin and precarious custody that he’s had to deal with every minute of every day since their parents died. If soc kids lost their parents it would still be a tragedy and a trauma, but money and custody and college and future would not be a concern. They’d just access their trust funds and be adopted by any number of other wealthy relatives or family friends.

If anything, I think it’s damn impressive that Darry improves his behaviour toward Ponyboy as much as he does, considering he has no more resources or support system by the end than he does at the beginning. His efforts to be more gentle and patient and communicative are sheer willpower. In essence, he’s trying to override his triggers while still living in survival mode, and he manages to make progress. That’s hard enough for people who know those terms and have that vocabulary, let alone someone who very much does not.

So is Darry’s treatment of Pony wrong? Of course. Is he inherently a bad person? The narrative is very clear that he is not, that his negative behavior is an anomaly. Is there a hell of a lot of context to Darry’s mistakes that should be taken into account? Yes. Is said context literally the whole point of the story? Also yes. Would you do any better in his position - his exact position, including his age and living in his time period? Sorry, no. If you are an adult in 2025 who can’t bother to understand Darry, there is no way you would have done a better job of understanding Ponyboy or caring for Ponyboy if you were Darry in 1965. If you write off Darry as just an abuser, just an inherently bad person, I guarantee that if you lived in the 1960s, you’re the one who would think Ponyboy was just an ungrateful brat who needs a good smack to whip him into shape.

[incognitopolls]

Having biological kids can be impossible/impractical for many reasons including you/your partner not having the relevant combination of parts, infertility, age, disability or illness, etc.

–

We ask your questions so you don’t have to! Submit your questions to have them posted anonymously as polls.

[bigleagueteag]

Runaway

wc: 1.7k

warnings: mentions of foster care, none really

Lexi’s perspective

"Um, Lex," Chloe announced, causing me to look at her. "aren't those the girls?"

I looked in the direction she was pointing, when my eyes locked on them. The girls. The girls who left me and still had the audacity to claim they loved me.

I moved on long ago. The amount of calls and texts I've received in the past seven months was seriously concerning, not to mention they filed me as a missing person.

Cops have chased me, search parties have been organized, and yet I still don't want to be found.

I am not going back.

I groaned, turning to Chloe, my partner amongst all this chaos. "Yes, that's them." I growled. "Let's go before they see us."

The system is what broke me. It took away my freedom, my faith, my personality.. they weren't any different.

"They're coming this way." She whispered, turning around and leading the way.

My breath hitched but I kept my pace, careful to not be noticed.

I eventually heard footsteps approaching quickly- of course. They're footballers, they can run. I'd hope.

"Lexi?" An Irish accent was heard first from behind us. Barely making eye contact with Chloe, we slightly nodded-then took off.

I've always been fast, something they've always told me. I know I am. I'd always do the most sports to just get away from them, from everyone. Practicing was the one way I could be alone, even if I was with a team.

Chloe and I have been in this situation before, just cops instead. We've made a long going plan to run different ways and just meet up at our camp, an abandoned underground place squirming with insects.

But when I cut a turn opposite to Chloe, it didn't surprise me I could still feel the gap between us closing.

It wasn't long until I felt arms wrap around my waist, tackling me to the ground.

"No," I cried, squirming as more caught up. "let me go."

"Sorry kid," Katie mumbled, arms wrapped tightly around me. "I can't do that."

I tried pushing her off me, but more arms grabbed me. The same pair of arms that used to hold me at night, tell me everything would be okay.

Leah.

"Stop it!" I yelled, trying to make a scene.

A load of the girls were there, either from Arsenal or the Lionesses. They were all looking at me with pity and annoyance.

They must not know the story.

"Lexi, can we please just talk?" Leah practically begged, holding me against her while I thrashed in her arms.

"There's nothing to talk about," I spat under gritted teeth. "you left me. I want nothing to do with you."

I trusted her. I shared my secrets, my thoughts, my hopes, and that was my mistake.

She gasped, her grip almost loosening but never enough I could break it. "No, no. I didn't leave you. I would never." She breathed out, sounding more hurt than anything. "I was doing what was best for you, love."

Best for me!?

Beth butted in while lots of the girls explained to strangers I wasn't being kidnapped. "Le, maybe bring her back to the hotel. Somewhere more.. private."

Leah looked around, before agreeing. She nodded to Katie and let go of me, but right before I could take off, the Irish grabbed hold of me and picked me up in a bear hug.

"Katie, please," I whispered, voice desperate. "please let me go."

The Irish sighed. "I'm sorry, Lex. Just talk to Leah, yeah?"

"I don't want to talk to her."

"She just wants to make things right."

"If she wanted things to be right she wouldn't have tried to send me back.

Katie sighed again as we neared a car. "I don't think I know the full story. Just.. hear her out, okay? She loves you, kiddo. A lot. She's been worried sick ever since you left."

"No." A tear fell down my face onto Katie's shirt. "I didn't leave. I was looking out for myself, something she gave up on."

I was speaking loud enough so I knew Leah- who was only about a foot in front of us- could hear. Her shoulders were slumped and I only felt a smidge bad, simply because I have a kind heart. Deep down I knew I could rip into her with my words and still walk away unsatisfied.

Katie sighed yet again as Leah opened the car door for us, climbing inside with me still in her arms. "If this doesn't work out, I'll adopt you, alright? Caitlin would agree, no worries. Just try to speak with her."

I huffed as Less climbed into the car, squishing me in the middle. She gave my thigh a pat along with a small smile, but I didn't reciprocate.

Leah got in the passenger seat as Beth started driving away, lord knows where. A bunch of cars followed behind, assumingely the rest of the girls.

After about five more minutes of complete awkward silence, we pulled up to a nearby hotel. Beth parked and Katie grabbed my hand, pulling me out of the car. "Don't even think about running," Katie dared in a whisper.

I shot her a glare but obeyed, letting her drag me through the hotel.

In the elevator, my eyes connected with Leah's for a quick second. I looked away quickly, but only after noticing the regret in hers. It almost made me feel bad for all the distress I caused, to her and everyone else.

No, no. I can't turn into the sweet girl I once was. Not now.

Katie pulled me out of the now opened elevator to a hotel room, presumably Leah's.

Once in there, I stood against a wall, pretty much everyone I once laughed with staring at me. Both Leah's lioness and Arsenal teammates have known me, for me.

Running away was not me. But running away is what was best for me.

"Guys," Leah spoke the dreaded words, slicing through the awkward silence. "can we have a minute?"

Everyone- I'm not even sure, like 20 people- left, lots confused and lots worried. But I didn't care. I was now alone in a room with the one woman I hated.

Well- sorta hated. I could never hate her. In reality, I missed her so much. It was my one weak spot, she was the mother I never had. I had to convince myself she was my enemy first my own good.

"Lexi," Leah began from across the room, arms crossed. She had the most relieved yet sorry expression ever, something I'd never really seen. "I'm sorry."

I said nothing but stared at her. Not in shock, no. If she wanted my forgiveness, she had to give more.

Her eyes met mine as she took a step closer. I took a step back, hitting the wall behind me. "Lex, I didn't leave you-"

"Bullshit." I cut her off. "You tried sending me back to the one place I never felt safe in. You knew about that and you still sent me back."

"No, no. Lexi.." her eyes watered and her voice shook, as if she had a million things to say at once. "I wanted you in a better place. Looking back, I shouldn't have tried it.. but I was struggling. I didn't know how much longer I'd be able to take care of you and give you what you deserved."

Tears fell from my eyes as a lump in my throat formed. "So why'd you start? You never had to foster me, but you promised me you'd make my life better. I was happy, then you threw it all away."

"Because," She started, blinking her tears away. Her voice was still quiet in the small room. "you were so vulnerable when I found you. I knew I couldn't just leave you, and I wanted to give you the life I felt you deserved. I..I just didn't know I wouldn't be able to until it was too late."

I stared at her in shock, not believing her ridiculous words. "I was with you for two years. Two whole years. That's the longest I'd ever stayed with anyone after my parents. Why would you not want to fight your battles with me?"

She shook her head. "Because you're a kid, Lex. Bloody 14 years old. You're the sweetest, most loving kid I know and I didn't want you around my issues. I wasn't thinking of saving you from your own battles, instead I was thinking of keeping you away from mine."

Her words were starting to get to me, her voice so familiar and comforting. I slid to my knees as the tears continued falling, a gut-wrenching sob wracking from my body. "Th-that's not fair, Leah."

She was quick to be by my side, and soon I felt the comfort of her arms snake around my waist and cup my head. "I know love, I know. It was stupid of me and I should've talked to you. I'm so, so, sorry."

I let out another cry, this time much softer. "I-I thought of you everyday. I never understood why you would want to send me back. I thought.. I thought you'd just given up on me.

Leah sniffled, taking a second to gather herself before speaking. "I-I made a mistake, Lex. The worst mistake I could ever make. After you ran off, I realized how horrible the system is and hated myself everyday for even thinking of putting you back in that place. I.. I could never even tell the girls I'm so ashamed."

By now, Leah was brushing my hair back with her fingers, letting me rest my head on her shoulder.

"But I'd never give up on you." She whispered, kissing my head gently.

The motion was so strong it made my heart flutter.

"Lex?" She spoke after a minute of the now comforting silence.

"Hm?" I hummed, exhaustion from my experience haunting me.

"Can I be your mum again? A real one this time?"

And for the first time in seven months, I felt a true smile tug at my lips.

"I'd love that."

[luidilovins]

Conservatives better get really comfortable with infantacide real quick. Abortion rights as well as other forms of birth control are under threat and sex education in schools is abysmal by design. People can't afford to feed themselves let alone spend upwards of $50 dollars on baby formula.

CPS already doesn't do their job, the foster system is overloaded and federal goverment spending is expecting to drop to 6% by 2033. The adoption process is predatory, lengthy and tedious and costs $20 grand and babies who are nonwhite are less likely to be adopted as well as babies with visible disabilities.

Conservatives better get comfortable with increased cases of shaken baby syndrome, repeaded child abuse and neglegence, kids that go to school hungry because their parents aren't feeding them, children getting dropped off at a realtive's house or daycare and their parents not coming back for them, babies being born with developmental malformation from failed at home abortion and acute withdrawl from drug or alcohol use.

"In 2021, 31 babies were placed in dumpsters, found in backpacks, or discarded in other dangerous locations. 22 of these infants were found deceased." -National Safe Haven Alliance

Republican conservatives better start getting comfortable with more people throwing their newborns into trash cans or leaving them on the side of the road or snuffing them with a pillow because even if you can force people to have babies you can't force people to raise them. You can throw that person in prison, but the US's obsession with crime and punishment does not take preventative action, nor does it reverse time.

For whatever reason they didn't want that kid. That's what the birth control was for.

[countrymusiclover]

21 - Entertaining Dinner

Part 22

The Hybrids Bright Star

- Tags - @melvia-ito @lover-of-books-and-tea @kmc1989 @tallrock35 @elenavampire21 @frost-queen @anonymousmuffinbear

The familiar worn floral of the couch cushions cradled me as Raegan launched into another one of her dramatic monologues about the baffling intricacies of a dating app profile. Her animated gestures, the way her brow furrowed in concentration, it was all so undeniably Raegan. Even after years of only seeing each other a handful of times a year, the rhythm of our friendship picked up seamlessly, like we’d never been apart.

“Honestly, Hallie, I don’t know what’s worse – the guy who listed ‘adventurous’ as his only personality trait, or the one with a picture of him holding a suspiciously large fish?” she scoffed, tossing a stray curl behind her shoulder.

I chuckled, picturing it. “Maybe he’s a professional angler who’s really passionate about his catch.”

“Or maybe he just likes telling tall tales about his fishing trips,” Raegan retorted, her eyes twinkling. “Seriously, though, you’re the only one I can vent about this to. Everyone else just tells me to ‘lower my standards.’”

“And you never will,” I agreed, knowing it was the truth. Raegan was fiercely loyal, not just to me, but to her own ideals. That was one of the things I loved most about her, even if it sometimes meant she was a little too honest for her own good.

The grandfather clock in the hall chimed, a deep resonant gong that echoed through the house. My stomach gave a familiar flutter. Klaus. He’d mentioned he might be home soon, and I couldn’t wait to see him. He was so… different. Not just physically, though he’d definitely landed on the ‘hot guy’ end of the spectrum, but there was an intensity to him, a quiet power that drew me in.

Just as I was about to suggest we snag some snacks before he arrived, the heavy oak door creaked open. My heart did a little skip-beat. Klaus. He stood there for a moment, his gaze sweeping over the living room, his eyes – those startlingly intense, almost golden eyes – landing on Raegan. And then, he froze.

His jaw tightened, a subtle shift in his posture that only I would notice. A muscle twitched in his cheek. He looked… unsettled. It was a rare sight.

“Hallie,” he said, his voice a low rumble, but there was an edge to it, a distinct lack of his usual warmth. He took a step forward, his impossibly blue eyes locking with mine. A silent question hung in the air. Who is she?

“Klaus, this is Raegan,” I managed, my voice thinner than I intended. “Raegan, this is… Klaus.” I hesitated, searching for a suitably mundane descriptor. Boyfriend? Too simple. Roommate? Utterly ridiculous.

Raegan, ever the pragmatist, solved my dilemma. “Hallie’s boyfriend,” she announced with a smirk, her gaze flicking from Klaus’s impeccably tailored suit to his chiseled jawline. “And a rather handsome one at that, Hallie. Judging by the… mansion, I’d say you’ve been holding out on me.”

My cheeks flushed. That was so Raegan. Blunt. Teasing. Completely oblivious to the seismic shift that had occurred in my life since we last saw each other.

Klaus, to his credit, didn’t miss a beat. He offered Raegan a charming, if slightly predatory, smile. “And you must be Raegan. Hallie has spoken of you.” His voice was a low, smooth rumble, like velvet with a hidden edge.

“Oh, has she?” Raegan’s eyebrow arched, her smile widening. “I’m sure it’s all good things. Hallie’s got a good heart, even if she is a terrible secret-keeper.”

My heart hammered against my ribs. Terrible secret-keeper. If only she knew.

Klaus’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. He took another step towards us, and I felt a surge of frantic energy. I grabbed his arm, pulling him slightly to the side, away from Raegan’s direct line of sight. “Klaus, wait,” I whispered, my voice urgent. “We need to talk. Now.” We stood in the center of the main hallway by the grand staircase while my best friend on the living room couch.

He turned to me, his expression shifting to one of mild impatience. “What is it, darling? I was rather enjoying the introduction.”

“No, you weren’t,” I said, my eyes darting back to Raegan, who was now idly examining a ghastly-looking portrait on the wall. “You were… confused. And we need to be careful. Raegan doesn’t know.”

“Know what?” Klaus asked, his voice dangerously soft. “That you’ve managed to snag yourself a man of… discerning taste?”

I shot him a glare. “No, you idiot. That any of this is real. She thinks I’m just a normal, broke musician who happens to be dating a very rich, very attractive man. She doesn’t know about… any of it. The magic. The… hybrids. Anything.”

Klaus’s gaze narrowed, a flicker of something I couldn’t quite decipher in its depths. “You intend to keep this… charade going?”

“Yes!” I hissed, pulling him further into a nearby, richly decorated study. Shutting the door until I heard a gentle click of the lock. “I have to. She’s my sister, Klaus. Not my real sister obviously, but my chosen sister. She grew up in the system with me. She’s seen enough weird and awful things in her life. The supernatural world being real? It would just… break her. Or worse, make her scared of me.”

The scent of old leather and polished wood filled the air. He turned to face me, his expression unreadable. “So, you would have me pretend to be… what? A normal human?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his tone. “A man who plays the part of a wealthy benefactor, perhaps?”

“Exactly!” I said, relief flooding me that he wasn’t immediately dismissing my concerns. “You have to be normal. Just… a supportive, slightly mysterious boyfriend. No flashing eyes, no super strength, no talking about your millennia-old family drama.”

He leaned against a large oak desk, crossing his arms. “And what happens when she inevitably asks about the antique dagger collection? Or the very large wolf head mounted above the fireplace?”

I groaned, running a hand through my hair. “I’ll… I’ll figure it out. I’ll say it’s a very elaborate hobby. Or that you’re a collector of peculiar things.”

Klaus let out a low chuckle. “You are remarkably adept at weaving a tapestry of half-truths, Hallie.”

“It’s what I do,” I said, a small smile playing on my lips despite the stress. “It’s how I survived.” He looked at me, and for a moment, the ancient, powerful hybrid melted away, revealing the man who had somehow captured my heart. “Just… promise me you’ll try. For me.”

He pushed off the desk, walking towards me. He reached out, his thumb gently tracing the line of my jaw. “For you, Hallie, I will play the part of the perfectly ordinary, incredibly wealthy, and devastatingly handsome human. Just… try not to let her interrogate me too thoroughly.”

I let out a shaky breath. “Deal.”

We stepped back out into the foyer, and Raegan was still there, now examining a tapestry depicting some rather violent-looking medieval battle. She looked up as we approached, a perfectly innocent expression plastered on her face. “So,” she said, turning to me, her eyes twinkling, “when do I get the grand tour? And more importantly, when do I get to meet the man behind the… mansion?”

Klaus smoothly slid an arm around my waist, pulling me closer. “Perhaps after dinner, Raegan?” he suggested, his voice dripping with cultivated charm. “Hallie has been rather… eager to share her life with you.”

Raegan’s gaze flickered to Klaus’s arm around me, then back to my face. She didn’t say anything, but I caught a subtle shift in her expression, a fleeting look of something unreadable. Was it suspicion? Or just the usual sibling-like assessment? With Raegan, it was always hard to tell.

Dinner was an exercise in controlled chaos. We sat in the opulent dining room, the walls adorned with portraits of stern-faced ancestors. Klaus, as promised, was the picture of normalcy. He spoke of his (fictional) business ventures, his (invented) passion for antique art, and his (fabricated) fondness for quiet evenings at home. Raegan, meanwhile, was a force of nature. She peppered Klaus with questions, her sharp wit and intuition working overtime.

“So, Klaus,” she began, her fork hovering over a perfectly roasted quail, “Hallie tells me you’re quite the patron of the arts. What’s your particular area of interest?”

Klaus’s smile was effortless. “I have a… broad appreciation for historical artifacts, Raegan. Particularly those with a certain gravitas.”

“And you, Hallie, what have you been working on? Still serenading dingy dive bars?”

I managed a weak smile. “Still singing, yes. Just… a bit more inspiration these days.”

Raegan snorted. “Inspiration that comes with a mansion and a wardrobe that probably costs more than my entire life savings. You’re not holding out on me, Hallie.”

My stomach churned. “There’s nothing to hold out on.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Raegan said, taking a sip of her wine. Her gaze was fixed on Klaus, a playful challenge in her eyes. “He seems a bit too perfect, doesn’t he? Almost… too good to be true.”

Klaus met her gaze, his own eyes holding a hint of amusement. “One tries one’s best, Raegan.”

The conversation danced around the edges of the truth, a delicate ballet of evasion and deflection. I felt like I was walking a tightrope, my every word carefully considered. Klaus was surprisingly good at this, his centuries of experience in manipulation and deception proving invaluable. He seemed to genuinely enjoy Raegan’s sharp tongue, his smile widening with each pointed question.

Then, as the dessert plates were cleared, Raegan leaned forward, her gaze sweeping between Klaus and me. The playful glint in her eyes intensified. “So,” she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “have you slept with him yet?”

The question hung in the air, heavy and charged. My face flushed crimson. Klaus, to his credit, didn’t flinch. His expression remained unreadable, but I saw a flicker of something – surprise? Annoyance? – in his eyes.

I stammered as the fork I was holding clattered onto my plate. “Raegan! That’s… that’s incredibly rude!”

Raegan just shrugged, a picture of innocent curiosity. “What? It’s a perfectly valid question. You’re living in a mansion with a ridiculously hot guy. I’m just asking the important stuff.”

Klaus, ever the smooth operator, interjected, his voice calm and even. “Raegan, Hallie and I have a… mutually respectful relationship.”

“Mutually respectful,” Raegan repeated, nodding slowly. “So, that’s a no, then?”

I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. This was exactly what I’d feared. My two worlds colliding in the most mortifying way possible. “It’s… private, Raegan,” I managed, my voice barely above a whisper.

Raegan let out a dramatic sigh. “Fine, fine. Keep your secrets. But if he’s not treating you right, Hallie, you know I’ll be the first one to shove him off a cliff. Metaphorically speaking, of course.” She flashed a grin at Klaus, who responded with a tight smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

The rest of the evening was filled with Raegan’s usual brand of sisterly affection, interspersed with her subtly probing questions. She talked about our childhood, the shared laughter and tears, the quiet desperation of those early years. And through it all, Klaus remained the enigmatic, charming man he portrayed himself to be, a quiet observer who seemed to genuinely enjoy our company.

As the evening wore on, Raegan, with her uncanny ability to sniff out an unanswered question, began to subtly probe for information about staying the night. The mansion, with its opulent and slightly eerie grandeur, clearly held a certain fascination for her.

“This place is incredible, Hallie,” she commented, gesturing around the vast living room, her eyes taking in the antique furniture and the shadowed corners. “It’s like something out of a gothic novel.”

“It’s… old,” I offered, knowing how inadequate that sounded.

“Old and very, very big,” she added, her gaze drifting up towards the sweeping staircase. “Do you have like, a whole army of staff running this place? Because I’ve barely seen anyone.”

“Just a few,” Klaus said smoothly, stepping into the conversation, leaning casually against the doorway. “Discreet individuals.”

Raegan tilted her head, a thoughtful expression on her face. “You know, I’ve got that early shift tomorrow, and my apartment is like a five-alarm fire hazard at the moment. It might be easier if I just crashed here. Unless that’s… inconvenient?” She directed the last part at me, but her gaze flickered to Klaus, a silent challenge in her eyes.

My heart leaped into my throat. Staying the night? Here? With Klaus? The risks were astronomical. But Raegan, my sister, was asking. And I hated saying no to her.

Klaus, however, seemed unfazed. He met Raegan’s gaze directly, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “The more, the merrier, I assure you. We have ample accommodations.”

I shot him a look of pure disbelief, but he merely offered a subtle, almost imperceptible nod. He was playing his part, and, infuriatingly, it seemed to be working. “Really?” Raegan’s face lit up with a genuine, unadulterated joy that I hadn’t seen in a while.

Nodding my head, yes I smiled at her. “Yes.”

“Awesome! You’re the best, Hallie. Seriously. Sister pact, remember? Always looking out for each other.” She threw her arms around me in a warm hug, her touch firm and reassuring.

And in that moment, despite the whirlwind of secrets and the constant fear of exposure, I knew I wouldn’t trade Raegan, or even this strange, dangerous new life, for anything. We were sisters, bound by a past and now, it seemed, connected by a future I was still trying to comprehend. And as long as I could, I would protect Raegan from the shadows that now defined my own.

[sunny-little-boy]

TW I’m venting about foster care

I’m finna be honest I HATED my time in foster care. I just got out like a year ago and it SUCKED, I was in emergency shelters like all the time because apparently a lot of people don’t want to take care of an autistic child and the people who try don’t realize how much attention they need. I’m not even gonna get into the system it’s self tho, I can’t even with that.

[itsbansheebitch]

My former home state wants to send LGBTQ foster kids to violent homphobic/transphobic families.

As someone who grew up in a racist family and had an aunt (who wasn't exactly against child abuse) adopt TWO black kids, I know how bad these things can go. Now, that aunt complains about her kid's behavior, but doesn't help them. She says, "We're leaving it in God's hands."

Please keep kids away from this. No one should be punished for existing. Even if you, "don't agree with the lifestyle" or think it's gross, you surely aren't a fan of child abuse.

Please sign the petition. Politicians do NOT represent my home state.

[bidisasterevankinard]

Just interest. In my country if you're 18 and was till that moment in a system, you'll be let out of the system with apartment that you will own. It's not big, 1 room, bathroom and kitchen, but it's yours. You're out of a system with a place to live in. No job(you can find it tho), no family, but your own place to live as well as a scholarship to go to university if you'd like it and some help while you study (not much but still)

And now I'm just interested if your countries have it or smt like this. Because i don't want to imagine kids with no one and not even a place to live, but I'm old enough to understand politics are different

So tell me please, if your country helps kids after they are passing the "adult" line in their life

[defyinglabel012]

Understanding the Foster Care System: How It Works and Its Purpose

Foster care is a state-run system that provides temporary housing to children whose biological families are unable to provide them with a stable or secure home. These children are placed in foster families, group homes, or institutions by the state while attempting to reunify them with their biological families or place them into permanent adoptive homes. The system is child-centered, with the provision of support services to foster children and parents. Foster care system may be short-term or even years based on different circumstances and family reunification process via the court of law.

[howdidthatbookend]

Mariana Zapata | The Wall of Winnipeg and Me

The Book:  The Wall of Winnipeg and Me by Mariana ZapataPublished: July 4, 2023 by AvonDate read: April 4, 2024 ⭐⭐⭐⭐ Rating: 3.5 out of 5. The Characters:  Vanessa and Aiden Buy it on Bookshop.org | Amazon This page contains affiliate links. I may earn a small commission from qualifying purchases made through links on this site. The Plot (from Goodreads): Vanessa Mazur refuses to feel…

[rekiroyalstraightprincemaru]

logging back in after months of disappearing to beg for resources about the foster system in general but especially how being queer within the system effects it all. google is going to shit and i can't find anything at all

[eldritch-queern-magicat]

When I was very young, all I wanted was to perform music on a stage. I shied away from that dream after a few years past foster hell. I felt all over again how they had made a blatant mockery of me, with what I was struggling with. They only saw a wild child, and did their best to crush me. Afterwards, Nanny absolutely made it worse, even though she claimed to love me (I'm honestly still unpacking this mess).

When my parents helped me realize what being a famous musician would mean besides the art form, I was afraid. Terrified of the potential scrutiny that would come from it. So I ended up just putting that dream away. Writing stories would become my primary outlet after that, because something had to take its place. Later, I'd also develop my skills at drawing. I'm an artist, it's in my genes. I wouldn't stop singing and otherwise making music as I could, of course. It just wasn't anything other than keeping myself grounded at some level, reminding me that other people do feel the same kinds of things as me.

The whole thing is, that original dream still hung on like an aloe plant for decades. I might try to ignore it, but it would never really die. It survived on the dregs of my other art. And I've been realizing this week just how easy it could actually be, for me, to make my poetry into song.

There's a video on Instagram of me reciting one of my poems written last month. I have this cadence, apparently, that people really like. But I have it very much because of music. Dad is also an entertainer by nature, with theatre and the carnivals as a young man, and even now is still entertaining almost anyone he has a conversation with. The rest is from various YouTubers I follow, some who read stories for their channels, and quite a number of science/history/plus communicators and educators.

Yes, I've been thinking of reading more of my poetry and posting on Instagram and such. But the thing with the video I did share, is that I was so focused on my poem and setting the desired tone of the event I was at, I didn't think about anyone recording it at all. I guess I should have realized it was bound to be recorded. But it was me not even thinking about being recorded that helped me speak without getting too nervous as well as I did. So the idea that I know I'm being recorded, because I chose it in the first place, is a lot more nerve-wracking.

It's not that I'm afraid I can't do it, since speaking to any kind of audience is getting a little easier each day. It's the trauma and baggage I've been carrying my entire life. It's that whole thinking it's better to stick to the shadows and background. But the truth is, I've always been very visible in life. And frankly, it was often against my will to begin with. So choosing to embrace that visibility is a lot scarier than just having it thrust onto me by someone else.

The most frustrating part about this is the fact that doing it is inevitable. I just struggle with the video format because it seems to mean showing my messy-looking face. I've been subjected to so much judgement over how the nerves literally don't even all work right to begin with. How I had no impulse control, when the truth was I just never had the time to develop it. It's kind of why I abandoned my tiktok account years ago, along with some general platform type concerns (and it's not even the political crap).

Yes, I've thought of going back and doing stuff. But my physical appearance makes me nervous about it, since people are still so judgemental. This may also be inevitable, though. I'm in the middle of reclaiming myself, and the decision to embrace my physical visibility has already been carved in stone.

Being entirely honest, I don't quite know where this will end up leading me. I'm walking into the wide unknown with only my lantern to guide me through the shadows. And even though it seems like I have no path to even follow, or even a clear destination, every step farther lands on solid ground. My path unfolds with each step I take, even if I'm only stepping onto thin air.

A snowball's chance in Hell is all I need.

-Sterling 🎉😺

[communistkenobi]

whenever right wing people talk about “parental rights” they are talking about property rights. they are arguing for further political and legal enshrinement of their children as their literal actual property

[nationwidechildrenshospital]

"Growing up, my family helped to care for children in the foster system. I was around social workers from a very young age, and I always knew that I wanted to help people and advocate for those without a voice. My heart is especially drawn to caring for children and families and helping them navigate difficult life circumstances. Being a social worker, you have the opportunity to hold people’s stories and walk with them through both difficult and positive seasons."

Maggie Burch, Clinical Social Worker, Neurology

[saygeadvice]

Okay, sorry.

But.

Like.

This is beautiful?

It makes my soul shake.

[CW: talk of child abuse, foster care in this paragraph. Nothing graphic, but feel free to skip this paragraph] I had a Real Shitty Childhood that involved so many different kinds of abuse it's a wonder I actually survived. My family was living in campsites and shitty, roach laden motel rooms where I was raising my two younger siblings while my mother was out doing who-knows-what. We were placed into the foster system when I was 13, where I stayed until the day I turned 18. I was then kicked out onto my ass and basically told (as all foster kids who "age out" here in the U.S. are told) to "figure it out and be an adult," though they never taught us *how* or what it means to adult properly.

I had no real family to speak of. The younger siblings that I was raising were separated from me when we entered the system - they were sent all the way across the country. I hadn't seen them in 5 years (the United States are really fucking massive, as countries go), and we had naturally grown apart.

I'm now in my mid thirties.

All of the queers in my life across the years that taught me things about myself-

staring with the slightly-older-than-me-dyke (who turned out later, in adulthood, to be a transmam, bless him) in my first foster group home who taught me how to love me for me, and accept my queerness-

every one of them holds a special place in my heart. They do speak to me, hold my hands across the years, across the space.

Some of them, well, most of them, really... they, that is, I have no idea where they are, what became of them. That doesn't change the enormity of the impact they had on my life, how each one of those interactions shaped who I am as a person today.

I want to tell you a story.

After I left that group home, the foster system, after I Became An Adult, I went out and found a job. Then another. Then another.

By the time I was 20, I had my own 2 bedroom, 2 bathroom apartment/flat, and three jobs. I was never late on a single payment, all of my bills were paid, in full, every time. More money than I'd ever had, more than I knew what to do with.

The American Dream™️

My door was always open. It was the safe haven I never had. Anyone I met that needed a space to be themselves in, a space to feel their feelings, a space without judgements or scorn, was safe there. I literally did not lock the door, not once (the area that I lived in had a high crime rate, so leaving a front door unlocked was not usual). It never became an issue, somehow.

It was mostly younger queers that needed an escape, a temporary reprieve from their oppressive, conservative families, that came by.

On one occasion, one of those teens was kicked out of their house for being transgender. They stayed with me until we could figure out something long-term for them.

Sometimes, people would come by to sit on my back porch and just need to be quietly near someone while they silently processed things.

I felt like I was helping people, but I don't think I really got it at the time. The long-term (positive) consequences of what I was giving to people.

I was miserable. I was lonely, my soul was hungry.

I let everyone know that I had made a big life choice, that I would be leaving in a month. I left my jobs, gave up my place, donated most of my things and money, and just... left.

I didn't have a destination. I just... went. I traveled the country. I was filthy and homeless and full of wonder. I saw amazing things and met the most inspiring people. Every one of them was also filthy and homeless.

It was an experience! I'd been obsessed with the book Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman for several years at that point, and the parallels that I experienced during that time were really something. Most people really don't see you when you're filthy and homeless. I digress, that isn't really part of the story, just an interesting thought I had at the time

Anyway, during this time traveling, I never asked for money. I kept with me and held up for all to see a scrap of cardboard on which I wrote a single word in permanent marker.

"Smile."

As passers-by walked on (busy in their lives, always in a rush to get to work, to the shops, to anywhere), I'd ask them not for pocket change but for smiles.

I'd say things like, "Would you spare a smile," "Can I borrow a smile? I'll give it right back," "can you part with a smile," and other, similarly cheesy one-liners.

Generally, people would do one of three things: ignore me completely, hand me pocket change in a hurry, or grin from ear to ear.

One person held a hand in my face, saying something like, "No, I don't have anything."

I was in Kansas on one particularly rainy night, sitting under a shop awning on main street with a couple of other travelers that I'd met that day. It was about 11:00 (23:00) or so at night.

A car drove up and parked at the curb in front of the shop. A middle aged man stuck his head out the window and asked if I was the one asking for smiles earlier that day. I informed him that I was indeed. In lieu of a reply, he waved me over to the vehicle. I looked over and my new friends and shrugged, getting up.

I tucked my hand into my pocket, curling my fingers around the handle of my pocket knife, just in case.

I trotted out into the rain and stood nearish the driver's door. He told me that last week, he'd gotten terrible news from his doctor. Something malignant, inoperable. He'd been in a state, alternating between morose, dazed, and angry at the world.

He said that earlier today, he happened to pass my bit of sidewalk, and I asked him for a smile. He told me that my smile was so full of light and love that he couldn't help but smile back. And he meant it, that smile.

After leaving that interaction with the stranger on the street that only asked him to smile, he started to think for the first time since The News. All day, in fact.

He told me that it helped to change his perception, back to something more similar to how he saw the world before The News, but a bit brighter.

He said that he felt a little less mortal, a little less morbid, a little better, a little brighter.

He said that what I "gave" him meant the world to him. He thanked me.

That impact, the brightness, might have worn off the next day, or possibly he was just lying about all of it, or maybe it stayed just a little bit brighter for him. Who knows. I never saw him again after that night.

We have no idea how many lives we touch just by being ourselves.

By offering a genuine loving smile to a stranger.

By offering a hug to that young queer who is just now trying to figure their shit out, whose conservative family would leave them homeless if they knew.

By offering a safe space, even virtually, to people who need it.

By sharing our own story, embracing our queerness, our weirdness, our *otherness,* in public spaces (those who it is safe to do so).

I think every single person to ever exist on this planet has changed the world, even if they "only" changed the world of one person.

The smallest, most seemingly insignificant actions or words can have a massive impact on those around us.

I think this fandom really has that... that... that spark? That something.

This past year(ish) has been a nightmare for me (that story is for another time), and this fandom, specifically the GOAD community over on r/goodomensafterdark truly pulled me out of it.

I feel like ME again, after over a year of having me torn from me. I'm feeling again, I'm creating art again, I'm connecting again.

This space is so full of love and light and queers, and I see a lot of those little moments, those little things that will undoubtedly be another hand to hold across the years, across space.

Thank you to every single person who has ever been one of those hands to anyone.

We all need a hand now and then.

ik i said i was gonna sleep but then fanfic and my cat nemesis screaming. anyways thinking about how ever since i was a teen ive not wanted to have kids but wanted to foster teens cause id be too scared to fuck a kid up but my set of skills has always been on track to being that of someone good at fostering teens.

and like. idk being maggot granddyke has rlly scratched that itch? especially with the idea of maggot summer camp? i am so so so full of care. being able to teach and help and support. this is all stuff i always wanted to do. this is what i was trying to do school to. and im so grateful that i get to.

i think a lot about this elderly dyke when i worked at an old folks home who toasted me when i told her how honoured i was.

i think about the kids at my high school who tomorrow afternoon are having a st patricks day party with my mom because she is one of the adult supervision and how i started that pride club nine years ago and how having a legacy at 24 is beautiful and terrifying

i think about my roommates when i moved into my current place who were like seven and ten years older than me and declared themselves my parents, at a time when i was freshly out of inpatient and floating at best

i think about the actor at sleep no more, and me crying from the beauty of the connection of queerness

i think about a friend of mine who was a youth leader at my congregation when i was in high school who i thought was nonbinary when i first met them. they didnt realise until quite a bit later. they are one of my dearest friends now

i think about the only time i went to summer camp, a week of leadership camp. it was the first place nobody knew my birth name. where i used just they/them pronouns. it was the first place i learned of the beauty of physical platonic intimacy, where we would all cuddle, or be close while playing cards or reading my immortal

i think of all of us holding hands across the years and the time and the space. in my heart and my mind there is a hangmans tree, from peter pan. the inside is all hollow and infinitely large and there is space for all those i love.

in my soul we are at summer camp and i am yearning so deeply for that to be real in whatever way i can make it

[defyinglabel012]

Defying Labels: A New Vision for the Foster Care System

Longstanding stereotypes have burdened the foster care system, portraying children as "difficult" or "troubled." In most cases, however, these labels fail to provide any recognition of the depth and potential within each child. "Defying Labels: A New Vision for the Foster Care System" confronts these preconceptions by focusing on initiatives that make room for the uniqueness of every child in care. It's by embracing personalized care plans, promoting family reunification, and providing mental health support that the foster care system can empower children to break free from the past trauma and build a brighter future. This is the way through which foster youth will not be seen as victims of circumstances but as resilient people who are capable of success and happiness.