#I’m really not romanticizing this. it was time.

[itspileofgoodthings]

Gosh not to whine because there is so much that is good and so much that was/is necessary and there’s so much that is right on the cusp of blooming but … I am still grieving not living at home. And that’s exactly what it is that I miss, without wanting to undo this move or regretting it because I wouldn’t undo it and I don’t regret it. I don’t live there anymore. The deep patterns of life that were a part of the home when we did live there are gone, broken irrevocably even though there is nothing at all tragic about what has happened and even though the breaking was probably (is) a step forward. And I just have to let that exist and let it be and just be sad about it sometimes. And just look the grief in the face and let it sit at my kitchen table, metaphorically. Because it’s there and it hurts.

[hollowhauntedheart]

TikTok when they realize that intrusive thoughts are actually intrusive and not some quirky little trait

seriously, this is so fucking annoying as someone who has intrusive thoughts

[sunsoak]

Why am I even considering getting a masters i hate school….

[a-walking-fandom-reference]

i have so many opinions about that eddie confronting “shannon” scene so many thoughts…

[werebutch]

I miss my moomin phase bc it was a time where I was soooo fucking obsessed w love (not that I’m not now..it’s just different..I obsess about it from afar without being IN it) … I was so devoted to my partner all I could ever do was romanticize the pain she inflicted on purpose or not.. it was romantic because I was suffering from such heavy devotion probably due to bpd LMFAO.. that phase led to me discovering myself sooo much and even though the person I was at that time was obviously fucked up in the head and a little cringe I still have so much nostalgia from it lol like . It was such a unique phase with extremely distinct feelings.. idk

[irish-belle]

My “cottage-ification” of the house is going so well!

Yesterday I finished painting the kitchen a lovely green and reorganizing it as I put everything away. I just need to put up the matching shear curtain (my mom and I found the cutest honeycomb fabric!) and cover the valance with my accent fabric (blue and yellow florals).

I do have my pillow case in the accent fabric to finish as well, along with the embroidery for the tablecloth to give the space the completed look. I’ll have more time for that once school starts!

[m0e-ru]

annual realization where this gas station’s operations and my life owe it all to visualive i’m serious

[aftout]

Leugen’s exaggeration and grandiosity when compared to other HJ results is very much intentional. And while you can argue that he just falls in line with other campy, over-the-top JD villains, I would go as far as to say that he’s just the clearest example to why they’re all designed to look that way.

Leugen represents something that fills Lanyon with glee. He feels happiest and at his fullest when he’s fronting as Leugen, hence why his speech and expression is so theatrical. He’s having fun. Which bears striking contrast to Sibyl and Jekyll’s experiences with the HJ-formula.

While their results are still very much them, Vain and Hyde don’t necessarily represent anything that makes them feel joyous to be alive. However, these things are still fundamentally who they are, hence why they can learn to live at peace with it. But their presentation is very similar to how they’d present themselves when out of costume because, again, Vain and Hyde are just parts of Sibyl and Jekyll that they have to put up with on a regular basis. They aren’t separate entities or alter egos with lives of their own, it’s just a representation of what it’s like to live with either ptsd or a personality disorder; how it can sneak up on you in the dead of night, how it can grow and shape you as a person while it also beats you down.

Leugen, on the other hand, is everything Lanyon wants to be but can’t because of his status and success. While Lanyon does live his life experiencing the things Leugen brings, he sees the transformations as a game. It’s a form of escapism, a way to pass the time and react with as much irrationality and impulse as he pleases. It’s a way for him to be himself. Thus, Leugen’s mannerisms are all the more playful and his appearance is more put together. This is what he wants.

Circling back to what I mentioned earlier about all other villains falling in line with this: JD speaks a lot through its costume design. The less period-accurate and colorful a character looks, the less compliant they are with the time’s societal norm. This is a huge factor to why Steampunks (while not antagonists to the story as a whole) are designed to look the way they do: it’s a movement to fight against what’s considered “correct”. When it comes to antagonists, they have fun with their outfits because they have fun with what they do. So much of design is there to reflect character, and the more a character stands out the more they’re seen as an individual. It’s Important to note that this is exactly why everyone in blank agency seems to balance between that line of being period-accurate enough and not period-accurate at all.

So yeah. TLDR: Leugen looks silly because he is having a blast :)) yippee!!!

[x-ladydisdain-x]

Poly Styrene and I would have had some good conversations

[that-one-guy-called-rey]

not loving life not suicidal but a secret third thing (trapped in the cycles of grief and feeling so incredibly lonely and everything just hurts so much and I know I’ll get through it but I can’t possibly fathom how)

[spaceakiko]

F in the chat for me having to go to school tomorrow because spring break is over and then it’ll be months before summer bro I’m crying 😭. Fluffy gay fanfiction and staying up way too late to save time is the only thing keeping me from falling into a state of pure, mind tearing depression.

[ravenz-den]

sooo you doing anything for thanksgiving..?

me:

[my-wildflwr]

one thing about me is that i’m a homebody. i do not care at all about going out. i love staying in and reading and baking and sleeping. id go out to eat or have a coffee or something easy and lowkey

[3verythingiknowaboutlove]

the limit does not exist!

how spencer helps college!reader understand a little calculus and therefore understand how he loves her.

MDNI | smut word count: 1931 warnings & tags & stuff: fem reader, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), lil bit of overstim hehe, pure unbridled affection, LOVE, FLUFF, hugging, reader cries, this was in fact meant to be written for spence's birthday... sorry about that school is kicking my butt lets just pretend it's october! author's note: this one is for my folks who HATE their calculus class and want spencer reid to give them head instead <3 maybe this can help you romanticize it a bit. i think this is classified as self indulgent…like REALLY self indulgent… hah... anyway i hope you enjoy! let me know your thoughts if u have any, i loveeeee you!! have a great day my hands are shaking posting this smut is so scary!!!!!

You sat in bed, staring down your notebook, eyes narrowed. Limits stared back at you. You were just about at your own limit, if you were being honest. 

Your brain, however sharp and witty it may be, is absolutely not one designed for calculus. A literary analysis essay? Done in half an hour. In depth scientific research project? Easiest months of your life. But there’s something about finding the instantaneous rate of change of a curve at one point in time by finding the slope of a tangent line that hasn't clicked yet. 

A slew of other papers- notes, practice worksheets printed from obscure websites, and formulas- surround you, a sea of unfinished thoughts from the past month of the semester.

You bite on the end of your pen, the little hope you had for a good grade in this class slipping further and further away with each passing moment, like the last ember dying in the remains of a fire.

What you really wanted to be doing was celebrating Spencer’s birthday with him right now. A chocolate cake lay on the kitchen counter and pasta simmers on the stove, but you and your boyfriend had agreed to do a solid hour of work before the celebrations ensued.

You were never particularly strong willed when it came to following through on such agreements.

“Teach me calculus,” you say, a very impressive three minutes later, flopping down on the couch. Your head makes its way to its forever resting spot, Spencer’s lap. He raises his eyebrows slightly, thumb reaching out to trace over the slope of your nose. His eyes flit between you and the file to the side of him. 

“I thought we agreed on an hour.”

“Yeah. But it wouldn’t be a very productive hour if I didn’t know how to do what I have to do. And I missed you.” 

He sighs quietly, closing the file next to him. 

“What do you not understand?” You smile at that, loving how quickly you won.

“Related rates. Like, conceptually.” 

Spencer hums in response.

“It’s October. You’re not even supposed to know related rates yet.”

“Fine. Then let's open presents,” you respond, smiley. His eyebrows get impossibly higher, hand stroking your cheek delicately.

“No. I want our night to be a little more stress free when we celebrate, okay? How about you think about that lovely cake you made for me. What if I decided to squash it so that the diameter would get bigger, going from…let’s say, 20 centimeters to 26 centimeters in 3 seconds, and the height would get smal-”

“That wouldn't be nice. It took me like four hours,” you interrupt, grumbling. He cracks a smile.

“For the sake of the example, let's say I was an awful boyfriend and really wanted to ruin all the hard work you put in for me.”

You roll your eyes.

“Hey,” he says, hand moving down to touch your jaw softly. “Don’t do that. Don’t be difficult. I’m helping you.”

“Sorry. I guess I need you to zoom out a little. I don’t really get why I’m learning this as a whole.” Spencer’s eyes pore into yours, staring down at you adoringly for a small moment as he comes up with an answer.

“Calculus helps us begin to explain the unexplainable by harnessing what we can,” Spencer says simply. “Einstein once said that, ‘Pure mathematics is, in its way, the poetry of logical ideas,��� which makes it simple in practice, but I actually like to think about it as the opposite philosophically. Trying to find logic in the more poetic ideas.”

You cuddle deeper in his lap.

“Think he would agree with that?” you ask. “I do answer to Einstein before you, unfortunately.” Spencer bends down to kiss your hair.

“I think so. He also had a really nice quote where he remarked that, ‘Gravitation cannot be held responsible for people falling in love.’ He said, ‘How on earth can you explain in terms of chemistry and physics so important a biological phenomenon as first love? Put your hand on a stove for a minute and it seems like an hour. Sit with that special girl for an hour and it seems like a minute. That's relativity.’”

Spencer takes a deep breath.

“Math doesn’t explain how I love you. It can’t. But I love the fact that it tries to. It kinda makes you wanna learn it as best you can.”

You process that for a long second and nod. He keeps talking.

… 

Presents get opened, and cake gets eaten before dinner. Of course.

You’re now in bed, on top of the covers, forcing Spencer to give you a fashion show of the new sweater vest and tie you got him. He turns to you after putting it on, and you beam. 

“I really like it. You look great. Do you like it?” you ask. He nods, smiling back at you.

“I’m gonna wear it to work tomorrow.” 

You beckon for Spencer to come closer, sitting up in bed. Your hands go out to the tie, tugging at the knot softly. He stares down at you until eventually interrupting your motions with a slow kiss, hands cupping your face.

“You’re so pretty,” he mutters.

He pulls away and finishes what you started, folding the tie neatly and setting it in the drawer. Then comes the vest, and soon enough, he’s just in his boxers.

“You’re the pretty one,” you say quietly. “Come to bed.” He crawls on next to you, tugging you into his arms. “Happy birthday, Spence. I love you.” He dips his forehead to your shoulder.

“I love you.”

Before you know it, he’s shifted on top of you, moving down. Fast. You blink, hard, trying to rid your head of the hazy endorphins as you register what he’s doing.

“What? No, I was gonna do that. It’s your birthday. You don’t have to,” you protest.

“But I really, really want to, darling girl,” he murmurs back, kissing your knee and softly pushing it to the side.

You fluster and Spencer just looks at you, fingers tracing shapes on your waist, waiting for you to be ready. 

“Well. Um. Okay. If you insist. I can’t really deny the birthday boy.” Your voice is small, and a little giddy smile grows on your face. Of course Spencer Reid would want to give you head on his birthday. 

He smiles a little against the bare skin of your hip where your top meets your shorts. Then he meets your eyes. 

“You know you can, though, right?” he asks, voice a little more serious. You reach out to touch his hair softly. 

“Yeah. I know.”

Fingers hook your shorts, gently pulling them down. He presses a kiss to your thigh, and then he suddenly looks down at it. 

“Soft,” he murmurs, like he’s making a mental note. He presses another, and another, incrementally going closer and closer to your soaked through underwear. His eyebrows scrunch when he sees the wet spot. “All this from a few kisses?” 

You blush, unable to respond. 

Spencer’s fingers hook a centimeter of your underwear. “These?” he checks.

“Yes, please,” you manage. He tugs them down, silently noticing the slickness of your sex, and exhales shakily.

“How many times on average does it take for a guy to call you pretty on a given day before you get annoyed?” he murmurs, soft smile playing on his face. You smile too, head cloudy from his words, but it immediately drops when his lips press directly against your pulsing clit, kissing it softly.

“Fuck,” you say (Spencer would argue moan) softly (loudly). You let out a content sigh, and he moves to suckle it, actions becoming less and less delicate. 

It’s not harsh, but incessant. Spencer knows what you can take. He knows exactly what you can take. You’re both quiet for a bit, save for your breathy moans. 

“Spencer,” you say softly, ripping you both out of your individually hazy and dirty and distracted minds. “You’re too far away.” He looks up to you, face parallel to your aching core, hair beautifully messy and mouth glistening.

After a second, he grabs your hips, gently pushing you up against the pillows so you’re propped up at a better angle. He then shifts his body up wordlessly so he’s more above you, dipping his head down to give you a soft kiss. You taste yourself, tongue darting out to lick your lips.

His hand takes over where his mouth was, sliding in between your folds with a practiced ease. Spencer looks down at you, eyes wide and flitting between yours, searching for a reaction.

You reach out and wrap your arms around him, holding him close. “Holy shit, I love you,” you murmur.

His fingers lightly graze your clit again before one slides into you. “Angel,” he breathes out, so quietly. “I love you too. This okay? Are you okay?”

You nod feverishly and lift your hips to meet his hand, always in a perpetual state of wanting more, to be closer. Your bodies are melded so close together, barely giving him room to push his hand into you. He doesn’t even bother to ask you to use your words or keep your hips down, like he might on a regular night.

He pulls his head back to watch as he pushes another finger into you, stretching you just a little. “There we go. You always feel like heaven around me.”

Your eyes flit up to his face as he says those words, now having a little more room to observe him. You focus on the slope of his nose and curve of his mouth. 

“You’re so perfect,” you say quietly, adoringly, before you even realize it was true.

You blink at that thought. Spencer Reid is perfect, despite whatever universal odds deeming that impossible.

Those graphs, those formulas, now laying discarded & crumpled on the ground. They click, a little bit. You understand why Albert Einstein wanted to spend his life developing theories of relativity.

This is how Spencer sees you? What he was talking about earlier?

This is how he sees you?

The thought is almost too much.

Spencer sees your face, and not knowing what's going on in your head, slides down his free hand from your cheek to your carotid, feeling your racing pulse. “Take a deep breath for me, okay? You're about to come, huh?”

You inhale and are met with peace. Then your orgasm hits you like a wave. You clench hard around his fingers, and he just watches it happen, fascinated. “Baby,” he coos softly at you.

It wasn’t just your sensitivity he’s currently maximizing on or the little kisses he dips down to leave on your neck that sealed the deal, but the very thought that you could be loved in a way that is so perfectly impossible.

You exhale breathily as Spencer pushes you through the last trails of your climax, fingers not caring one bit that you just had your world tilted on its axis. 

“Spencer. Ohmygodohmygodohmygod,” you say eventually, overstimulated.

“You’re okay. Did so good.” he murmurs, fingers slipping out of you. 

His thumb brushes your cheek, wiping away a tear you didn't even realize was dripping down.

“Don’t cry, you always cry. It’s my birthday. Don’t cry on my birthday,” he whispers soothingly, affection lacing his voice.

“I’m not.” 

Another one falls. 

You reach and press out that perpetual little slope between his eyebrows with your thumb, gentle, like you might break him. “I’m not crying.”

Spencer lets you lie.

[irndad]

won't you be my sunshine-a.h.

a/n: runner!hotch x sunshine!reader !! sooooo fluffy, first hotch fic of mine so be gentle with me! lots of pining and happy end <3 happy to continue with these two in an au!

Aaron Hotchner is not a particularly emotive man. 

This is a skill he has honed, a cherished quality that was not born of luck or of natural ability, but a skill that he has honed down to a fine tip point. He needs to be, in this job. It’s cost him things, of course, but for the most part, Aaron is happy with his choices. He takes a firm line with people he works with, and does not always let up in his personal life.

The only time this sometimes causes a hitch, is in his romantic life.

Which isn’t to say that he has one. 

There is a woman who reads in the park every morning. Aaron affectionately thinks of this bench as her bench, as it is marked by wisterias and hyacinths on either end of it. It’s something of a ritual, after his runs, that they talk. 

It’s fun. He doesn’t have a lot of space for fun. He’d collapsed on the bench one day after siphoning his anger at a particular case into a difficult run. He’d crashed onto the bench, sweaty and exhausted and hadn’t even seen her there. Which is a bit impressive, as she’s hard to miss the sight of. It is also in equal measure embarrassing. It’s not every day you collapse in front of a gorgeous woman, disturbing her from what is likely a lovely afternoon in the park.

That’s how it started, anyway. She doesn’t run, so each break is punctuated by her company. He’s actually not sure if they’re flirting. He’s not very good at that- the last time he has to he was 17 and so full of unearned confidence, he lucked into a partnership. 

Now, he’s a bit older and a lot more scarred. She’s younger than him, not by much. She laughs with her whole chest at his dry, glib humor- and this is something Aaron had forgotten. The joy of a beautiful, wonderful woman’s company beside you. 

He feels a little out of place next to her. Romance is not something he does. Ever thought he’d do again, really. That’s not to say that this is romance. Their romance is almost entirely hypothetical. He thinks of her at work, which is a monumental development in and of itself. 

“So, how was the paperwork? I know you’ve been taking a little more on since your colleague had a baby. It’s so kind of you to do it.” She asks him on a beautiful August morning. 

He fights off a blush that she remembers what he’s done for JJ. He’s not big on mentioning his own good deeds. Aaron believes that this would cancel it out. Still, her praise is a warm balm to the exhaustion that plagues him. It’s hedonistic, the way he wants her to say more about him. He wonders absentmindedly if she knew everything about him that’s hard to love, she’d still paint him with such a light and warm glance. She’s bright enough, he’s tempted to tell her everything about him just because she asks. 

“It was…alright. My team is excellent. I’m lucky to work with people like them, it makes the process better. I couldn’t ask for more.”

She giggles a little at this, and there’s that roar of affection. 

He feels a sense of ease around her, one that is suspicious for him. He tries not to romanticize, but this connection is hard not to. She’s beautiful- this is obvious to anyone who meets her, a simple truth of her. But Aaron is trained to notice things little factors that show the truth of someone. 

He likes to watch her- it’s a pleasant thing, getting to be in her presence. It’s a little addicting, the way she looks at him. It makes him feel like all of the things he knows to be true of himself- his relative failures, the closed-off nature of his demeanor- are things that not only can be overlooked, but don’t seem to be in her line of sight at all. It’s an honor, to have her doe eyes rake over the sight of him, to meet him with gentle conversation. 

He tries not to notice that she is gorgeous. Aaron has been around beautiful women, of course- this is not something that should surprise him. But there’s something effervescent about her, something that his him wondering if it’s possible that she might feel the same way about him. He knows that he used to be a more attractive man, but now. Well, he’s a bit bruised, both metaphorically and physically. 

It feels odd to even think of this happening. She’s just got a warm, sweet tone and he replays what it’s like when she greets him. She smiles her brilliant grin and sometimes hugs him. It’s embarrassing how much he likes the feeling of it- soft curves against hard muscle and scarred skin. She always smells wonderful, and he wonders how nice it would be to have more of this. 

“I like your new shirt, by the way.” She smiles at him, and his heart jumps. It feels juvenile, but- she’s wearing a new lipstick, it seems. Her beautiful pout looks awfully tempting. 

“I like the lip color,” he tries to compliment back amenably, but that doesn’t stick. Instead, it comes out too earnest. He’s hyper aware of the fact that she’s right by him. She flushes, and Aaron feels a surge of pride. 

“Thank you,” she says, voice softer and flattered, and isn’t that a pretty sound? He’d love to do that for her, make her feel seen, make her feel like she’s as beautiful as she is, “I thought you might like it.”

It’s her directiveness that breaks the seal, he supposes looking back. Because she wore the lipstick for him. That’s just about the only thing it can mean, and he is struck with a particularly sensory fantasy of what it would be like to slot his mouth against hers- he gets the feeling it might be worth it even if he gets the color on his mouth. 

He’s a gentleman, though, he decides after a decidedly ungentlemanly amount of time spend staring at the gorgeous curve of her lips. 

“Would you want to get dinner with me?” He hears himself say it before he’s processed it, and then it’s out into the world. His heart is hammering and he’s blaming on the run, when god, it’s absolutely about how breathtaking she looks, the sunlight reflecting off her hair like a halo. When she beams back at him, she looks particularly angelic. 

It’s then, she leans over and kisses him on the cheek. 

“I thought you’d never ask.”

(Months later, when she is sitting on his kitchen counter and he is standing between her legs, gazing down at her with unabated fondness because he is entitled to that, he reflects on this moment and thinks god, how lucky am I, that I ran past that bench?) 

[monsterfuckermilligan]

wanted to reblog with these tags because i think they’re really important! (i also agree 100%)

#this is real genuinely being adopted is worse than being Igbt saying this as a BT #also op you were well within your rights to be upset about that blog adoptees are not immune nor inculpable for perpetuating harm against--#other adoptees #and essentially working to perpetuate the adoption myth on a site filled with people who are one of the primary target customers #of the adoption industrial complex is deeply misguided at best #you're allowed to be mad as hell about someone parading around our oppression as if it's cute and fun for the amusement of outsiders #that is to say #i don't think you need to tone police yourself when pointing out that someone is perpetuating something bad #and that whether or not that blogger is an adoptee is irrelevent because they're doing harm — via @mothly

and i wanted to bring attention to the fact that i really did tone police myself while advocating for us not to be tone policed! oh, the irony. it’s so interesting to me that a fellow adoptee caught this behavior. it just shows how much we have to do this to ourselves in order to survive. it’s a hard line to walk in not feeling like i’m sounding rude or mean or inadvertently causing someone to feel as if my point is not a valid one, but that just loops back into us having to tone police ourselves and not being allowed to be angry about our oppression.

ultimately, my goal is to be accepting of every adoptee, regardless of where they are in their journey, and also be firm in my beliefs and advocacy. i do stand by what i said and think you put it wonderfully.

honestly i am worried about fictional adoption agency op being tokenized because of their blog/poll (“this adoptee is okay with this, there’s just mean adoptees out there who don’t let us have fun!”) but non adopted people are gonna non adopted people, unfortunately.

i do think it’s definitely misguided and unintentional because they have an understanding the people voting do not, which brings me to the point about poll voters and people on tumblr being a primary target for the adoption industry. that. is. absolutely. spot. on. that needed to be said because it is so so so fucking true. it’s another reason why i harp on adoption in fandom so much and the way media portrays it. since most of it is rather anti adoptee (in the way that it lacks complexity and/or has adoption in a positive/necessary light at best) and pro adoption industry. which this is just…straight up pro adoption industry. because the whole thing relies on acting as if adoption agencies don’t cause harm and dehumanizing us. they even use the same type of language that real adoption agencies use. it’s really distasteful (to put it lightly, i personally find the blog disgusting) and offensive. it is harmful and i genuinely hope nobody sees my apology as giving permission.

hey… not so quick question op……… are you not cishet? or do you love and respect any not cishet? better yet, have you ever even spoken to a not cishet person? or do you have knowledge about the cishet industry and the predatory behavior towards non cishet people? or do you just think that being not cishet is something cute and fun for stuffed or real animals that doesn’t happen to real people? i need you to explain why this is fun for you. you and all the people that do this stuff (voting or making these polls) owe real not cishet people explanations on why this is cute and not insensitive towards a marginalized group.

- hope you can hear how you sound bc ngl, it felt crazy to read your post. fucking. block people and shut up.

you really thought you did something with this but it really just puts it more into perspective on how adoptees are not taken seriously lmao. could i have blocked and moved on? yes. should i have? yeah, i even apologized to op because of it. i was unable to maintain control of my impulses, manage my own triggers, and practice solid emotion regulation at the time, and that’s on me. i take responsibility for that.

but your anon is just…yeah of course. how could i ever expect anything less? the fact is adoptees are mocked and belittled when we don’t think adoption is cute or act as if adoption is the human rights issue that it is.

adoption agencies are the backbone of the private adoption industry. they make money off of babies. they make money selling babies. this is an irrefutable fact.

they base our prices off of gender, age, disability, and race. they advertise in low income communities the most and tell first parents that their child will be better off with someone else. they tell them that it is an act of love. they take money from infertile couples, who are constantly told that they have ‘other options’ and given very little respect for the trauma and deep sadness infertility causes. they were started and popularized by a human trafficker named georgia tann. the adoption industry is now a multi billion dollar industry.

you are speaking to someone who just has to live with the knowledge that my adoption agency could’ve forged my documents because they did it to others. i am someone who has to accept that my adoption agency has been investigated for human trafficking. i am someone who exists with the knowledge that there is a price tag on my head. i was given to the people who bought me in a hotel room. compared to some of my friends, i am lucky, and my adoption was not wonderful by any means. i lost my first family, my siblings, my language, my country, and that doesn’t even count anything that happened after. i sounded like a person who’s been adopted who is angry that adoption is often not taken seriously, especially in fandom, and especially especially by (presumed) non adopted people.

you felt the need to parody my rb in an attempt to mock me and minimized the issues of two marginalized groups, and walked directly into the point.

one of the big differences in your comparison is that queer people and trans people are recognized by the majority, and legally to many countries, as a marginalized group. this is not true for adoptees. adoptees are 4x more likely to attempt suicide, more likely to be harmed and abused by their adopters, more likely to be killed, have higher rates of institutionalization and incarceration, and we even have our own remembrance day for those of us who don’t make it. it is this month. october 30th.

and as someone who is exceedingly educated on adoptee issues; the history of adoption, how it coincides with colonization and genocide when we talk about transnational adoption, transracial adoption, not to mention just the sheer amount how many of us have our records falsified by adoption agencies, how we are rehomed online, and the lack of regulation with the private adoption industry, and the way our identities are legally changed with no way of ever undoing it, this is genuinely not a 1:1 comparison.

queer issues are seen as real. adoptee issues are not.

it’s ironic to me because as a queer and trans person, i am allowed to be angry and pissed off to many people, even according to cishet people! i am allowed to make mistakes and still be seen as having a valid opinion even when i don’t express it correctly.

as an adoptee, however, i am always expected to be the bigger person, to just deal with it in silence, and if i have an issue, say it in the most polite way as to not offend anyone. as adoptees, we are just supposed to sit back and be fine with not having access to our medical records, we are supposed to be fine with how kids get posted online for people to buy adopt, ignore the amount of suicides and those of us who die by abusive adopters, and just be accepting of how the ACLU fought to give queer couples the right to adopt but won’t fight for adoptees’ rights because they financially benefit from the adoption industry. we’re supposed to just get therapy and never publicly express complex emotions or anger about the adoption industry or the way we are invalidated.

and honestly? that’s fucking bullshit. i don’t subscribe to that idea.

adoptees are allowed to be angry and make mistakes. we are human beings who have survived a trauma that isn’t even deemed as one by many. we shouldn’t have to be happy and grateful, kind and polite. this shouldn’t be the case. it’s not a commonly accepted practice to tell queer and trans people that we should be grateful for having to be closeted and shouldn’t express any negative emotions about our oppression or the violence we face. it’s not expected of us to just be quiet or respectful about our oppression.

adoptees deserve that same grace and respect. if you think otherwise, then do some internal reflection. that’s not my problem.

but… thank you for being an example of how adoptees are gaslit into staying silent about our injustices.

thank you for showing your whole ass and proving my point.

not to mention the hypocrisy of this anon in the first place; you could’ve just as easily blocked me and moved on, but you didn’t. you felt the need to mock me and say something you’re clearly uneducated about. you wanted me to know ‘how i sound’—well, you sound like maybe you should take your on advice. it’s also interesting to me how you kept it on anon so i couldn’t have a genuine conversation. hey…not so quick question anon……are you a fucking coward?