#foster care

[batboyblog]

Nancy Mace went to an event on foster care at the capital, a former foster kid and now advocate on the subject, who is trans shook her hand and told her that lots of trans kids are in foster care and need her support too.

Congresswoman Mace called the cops and claimed he assaulted her and is wearing her arm in a sling.

what a weird hateful woman.

[ex-foster]

Girls from foster care are some of the most vulnerable members of society.

When girls run away from foster homes or when they age out of the system, they are at an increased risk of being exploited into the sex industry.

It is crucial to understand that the sex industry preys on girls and women from foster care because they are isolated from their families which makes them easy to exploit. When you grow up in foster care, you can also be dangerously lonely and in need of human connection and support. Human traffickers exploit foster girl's need for family and love.

Sex trafficking has a low rate of conviction but is highly profitable (a drug can be sold once, but a human being can be sold numerous times for sex).

It's also important to understand that recruitment into the sex industry is often done online. Be wary of people who suggest that "sex work is work" - they are recruiters. Be wary of people who use "swerf" (sex worker exclusive radical feminist) in order to demonize anyone who exposes the harm of the sex industry - they are recruiters. Real feminists protect the most vulnerable women and girls.

[mischelmayleys]

Only this first one is going to be post here probably so for more go to my wattpad: football_woman_11

CHAPTER 1

Mapi and Ingrid were the perfect ending for each other. They knew it of course. But sometimes they felt like something was missing. Maybe someone. Some little legs running around their shared apartment in the catalonia town. 

It started as a thought from their conversation one simple evening that turned them into a fostering process. They were told they are too busy and always traveling for the games as all the workers have said. It wasn't an environment for a little kid that probably came out of something tragic to find itself in a foster system. 

They still tried. They still asked if there was someone they could foster and later adopt. But the simple "No" set their hopes to minimum, until one day.

„Are you totally insane Eliza!" My social worker yelled at me as soon as she found me in a police station sitting in the 24 hour jail. I looked down at my bleeding knuckles and pursed my lips to stop the pounding pain in them.

I shrugged my shoulders and let myself sink further into the uncomfortable wooden chair.

„Do you have any idea how this will look  on your record. Running from yet another of your homes is one thing there but fights. And don't let me start at your school records." She was looking at me through the bars of the cell.

„They weren't my home." I said looking up at her.

She sighs: „Eliza I know you don't like them, but you need to at least try. There aren't many families that want a 16 year old, yet trouble maker. You know how hard it was for me to find you Mr and Mrs Freemans?" She let the question sink. She didn't expect me to answer her, yet she stayed quiet.

„I was protecting myself in the fight AND running away was a way better option than staying." I argued back at her. She doesn't know how it is in the foster system. For her every family is good, but it's never the case.

I was in five families so far. Neither of them were okay.

In the first one the father abused me mentally the second one physically, but no one ever believed me.

Who would believe a 16year old girl over people who put everything together once they're investigating? No one...

I didn't eat normal food for a long time, of course I always ended up getting some bread or cold food, but my body was missing some hot and fresh food.

„Eliza we talked about this. A roof over your head is home.“ Again I stayed quiet and just stared at my now numb hands. She wasn’t right. Home is when you are somewhere you are loved and treated right. 

My social worker continued to look at me for a few more minutes until she signaled for the cop to release me: „You are sleeping in my office tonight. The family dropped your things into my car. Come on.“ She grabbed me by my arm and dragged me into her car. 

„You bailed me out?“ I asked as she started the engine. 

„Yes.“ It was a simple answer but it made me smile a little. At least someone cared. 

The next day my social worker forced me into my classes and said after school to go immediately to her office, saying she found a family for me to stay over there for a couple of days. I didn’t bother to go, instead I went to a small football field where I sneaked and borrowed one ball which was always lying around somewhere on the pitch. 

I threw my backpack onto the field which didn’t include any of my school stuff. Instead of books it was filled with my football shoes and a half of my skateboard. The other half was showing from the back pack as it of course didn’t fit into him.

I quickly changed my shoes and began to do some tricks with the ball that I learned online. They were simple but at least I didn't suck at it like I did with school. 

It wasn't like I was stupid or something, I just didn't care. Foster kids don't normally get picked out to the school football team or to anything really. You don't have many friends because you are always moving around and no one likes new kids anyway. 

After some time my phone blew up with messages and missed calls from my social worker asking where the FUCK I was. I just rolled my eyes and said I'll be there in a few minutes. It was better to come late, at least they won't pick me if they see that I'm not bothered. 

I would lie if I didn't say I was scared to go into the office door. It would mean meeting the people who I would live with. They never were nice people fostering me. 

They seemed okay but most of them turned out into drug junkies, alcoholics or abusers. Sometimes all at once. I am kind of used to it now. I mastered a skill in running away and quickly scanning the areas I was in to see a potential way out. 

I took a deep breath and with a bored expression knocked on the door and opened them immediately after. 

I was met with my social worker and two women talking.  

„Eliza, come here. Sit.” My social worker said, making me sigh and sit into the chair next to her facing the two women. 

„This is Maria and Ingrid and they will take you in, until I find someone to adopt you.” my social worker was saying but all I was focusing on were the two women in front of me. 

One of them had tattoos all over her arms and one on her neck. I focused on that one more: 

Looks can be deceiving

Hmm interesting. People with tattoos tend to look aggressive and most of the time they are. One of the last foster homes I was in, the man had many tattoos…I used to look at them when he beat me up. How his muscles flexed and the tattoos moved on his arms. 

„Eliza!” I was torn from my thoughts because my social worker called my name. 

„Yeah, sure whatever.” I mumbled annoyed and stood up. 

„Be nice and please stay out of trouble.” She said as I followed Ingrid and Maria out of the door. 

I took a deep breath: „No.” And with that I closed the door and turned around to find them staring at me.

„What?” I asked.

Ingrid smiles at me: „We are waiting for you.” she stuck out her hand and I just looked at it and walked past them. 

„Or not.” I heard Maria mumble as they followed me closely.

Due to me not knowing where to go I stopped and looked back at the two women. 

„It’s that black Cupra.” Ingrid pointed out a black car sitting at the back of the parking lot. 

I nodded and walked to the car feeling them right behind me. 

I quickly slipped into the back seat and sat down with my backpack next to all of my bags which I don't know how they got there. Probably my social worker. 

I pulled my board between my legs so I don't make the interior of the car dirty. It was so clean. 

„So, are you hungry? Or did you eat in school?” Maria turned from the front seat facing me. 

I shook my head quickly: „I am not hungry.” I learned that by now, when someone asks me if I'm hungry the answer always has to be no. I once said yes and I hadn't eaten anything for three days due to me being ungrateful. 

They both shared a concerned look which I didn't see because I was already looking out of the window.

When Ingrid stopped the car I realized that we were in front of McDonald's. I frowned, why are we here if I said I'm not hungry?

„I know you said you aren't hungry but I think some fries aren't that big of a deal, what do you say?” Ingrid turned my way smiling. Why the fuck is she smiling at me? 

„I guess…” I mumbled in case this was some kind of a trap. Ingrid and Maria looks nice…nicer that the other people, but I am done trusting the system putting me somewhere nice.

They both went outside of the car as I stayed in. 

„Well you are coming too let's go.” Maria said as she opened the door on my side. Fuck! I mumbled under my breath and got out of the car carefully placing my board into the space between the seats. 

They were asking too many questions. If I really want just fries? If I want a burger as well? Or what I want to drink. I tried to reply short and no to most of the questions, but in the end I ended up with The nuggets, fries and coke zero in the back placed safely in my lap as we sat in the car to their house.

I still don’t know what to think about them. They are smiling at me, buying me food and making sure I have everything and it has only been two hours since they first met me. There must be something wrong with them…

Ingrid parked the car in front of a flat building in the center of Barcelona. It looked expensive here…or at least better than the streets where my usual foster parents lived. Maria took all of my bags even though I said I could carry them on my own, but she dismissed me by saying: “Why would you do that?” 

I didn’t fight her back on it, not because I didn’t want to, but it was Ingrid who literally guided me out of Marias way. 

“Come on let Maria be, I am going to show you your room.” Ingrid said and with her hand on my back she led me into the elevator. I had the Mcdonald's back in one hand and my board in the other one. I get my own room? 

[amoxicillin-tangent]

i am given birth to by my mother. i am brought home to a falling-apart trailer. i am fed and i am not fed enough. i am aged into a small being with opinions and some semblance of autonomy; my childhood is a video game and i am given three objectives: sit down, stay quiet, and cease to exist. i am made good at the last part; it is a god-like sort of art, and so i do. silence is suited for me as well as i am suited for silence. 

i am told, gently, by my third-grade teacher to stop writing in passive voice. the noun of the sentence should be the actor, the doer, the taker. i am not a taker. never the actor of my own consciousness, of my own unconsciousness, remember, now, i am ceasing to exist. 

i am uprooted like a wilting plant, no sunlight, chipped terracotta pot, placed, never planted. grow, says the sunlight seeping between the drawn shutters, and i deny its case. i am made a masochist at all of eight-years-old, i am made for withering away. i am made mother, made martyr, made clever, made more, made machine. 

i am placed in a foster home and told the new rules. i will sleep at 2130 and wake at 0600. i will eat blueberries and coconut yogurt and i will make good grades. i will behave. i will sit down, i will stay quiet, and i will cease to exist. 

i am told, gently, by my ninth-grade teacher to stop writing in passive voice. like this, you are the subject of the sentence. i am brought home; i am subjected to my sentence. i am taught, i am created, i am embittered, i am disillusioned, i am ceasing. it is all i know how to do.

blurring letters litter the pages before me. maya angelou, oh pray my wings are gonna fit me well. oh, tell the hell-child to return to her cell. mangled beast, worthless mongrel, ceasing. perfect child, perfect victim, passive. the sentences are diagrammed by my expert hand and i am diagrammed as well, pages in a folder, problem child, trouble-maker, mentally unstable. infinitive, preposition, page-break. 

my eleventh-grade teacher is asked why was it okay for maya angelou to write in passive voice? she responds, because to write in active voice would take the focus from the corpse to the crew. i like that. i understand it. the pages aren’t so blurry anymore. i trace them with my fingertips, letter-by-letter. her bones were found//round thirty years later//when they razed//her building to//put up a parking lot. 

i am no longer still, silent, ceasing. i am no longer wilting, and no longer made, i am maker. 

grow, says the sunlight seeping between the drawn shutters. i am neither the corpse nor the crew. i reach forward with trembling hands,

and i pull the cord, and the light floods through.

[silkentine]

One of my favorite fics hit 50 chapters today! Congrats, @rejectedconstellation !!! I could read a million more chapters!! It really makes my day when I wake up to see an update, I always read them too fast and sometimes even read each update a few times ☺️

Check out Found Among the Strays here on AO3 :)

[bellarkeselection]

Giving Second Chances

Gifs above don't belong to me they belong to their rightful owner

Wattpad request from Silverose365 Reader is a trouble teen the state is having trouble with so after multiple failed foster families the state calls John. The reader accidentally messed up on a job and gets called out until Rip makes a different choice than her previous foster family's.

John and Rip followed Sheriff Haskell out into one of the barns on the ranch. The three stops in the entrance seeing someone peaking their head over one of the hay bails. John slowly walked forward trying to not scare the girl off that looked to be a young teenager reminding him of meeting young Rip. “Hey there, kid. I ain’t gonna hurt you. Do you wanna come talk with us?”

“Where’s the girl from?” Rip crossed his arms looking at Sheriff Haskell.

He responded to John’s right hand. “She’s been bounced from foster home to another. She’s got a bad streak of breaking the law. I got a call saying the foster system was sending her to him until she bolted. Thankfully she ended up where they we’re taking her. Bringing her to John.”

Lifting my gaze up to the older cowboy guy wearing a tan cowboy hat I watched him bend down to her level. “Are you going to send me back to foster care….I don’t do good in that place. They all say I’m too old and reckless.” I had been moved around where I just started running away every time they sent me back in the system.

“I ain’t sending ya back. My name is John Dutton, what’s your name darlin’?” The rancher asked me offering his hand and I allowed him to pull me to stand up with him seeing another guy by the sheriff that was dressed in black with dark hair and hard eyes staring at me.

I nervously responded back to him. “Y/n. My name is Y/n, sir…what are doing now?”

“You come work for me.” John said looking at the man calling his name so I could put it with his face before he left us in the barn together. “Rip, you’re gonna teach her the way I did you.”

It had been a few months since that day and this is the longest that I have ever been in compared to my other foster homes. Placing a dark brown hat on my head I slide my brown boots on heading to the Yellowstone barn. Throwing a saddle on Lioyd’s horse I started tying it on until I heard one of the bunkhouse cowboys coming over to me. I believe Walker was his name. “It looks like a a cowgirl doesn’t know how a saddle goes on a horse.”

“What…what did I do?” I panicked beginning to twist the sterups and the back sinch backwards before I ran my hands through my hair.

Walker came over on his horse. “You put the saddle on backwards kid.”

“Crap, crap.” I mumbled under my breath quickly fixing it until John came over to me seeing that I avoided his gaze mumbling to myself unknown that he could hear me. “How could I put the entire saddle on backwards. That was stupid. I should have known that.”

It wasn’t the first the older rancher had seen her be hard on herself after she made some mistakes or didn’t be s quick as what the cowboys had told her to do something. And she would end up beating herself up over failing. John just hoped the girl saw that she was a good hand like he did. Because she was almost the same way when he found Rip years ago.

Walking through the barn I nodded to my boss Rip Wheeler who was walking with his horse when he noticed me. He climbed up on his horse addressing in my direction. “Y/n, got saddle Mr. Dutton’s horse. You’ll be riding it today with us to learn how to ride.”

Running inside the barn I took the reins of the boss’s horse tying the rope on the side of the wooden fence. Tossing the saddle over the horse I quickly tied it together. Putting me foot in the stirrups up Rip called my name. “Woah you think you’re forgetting something kiddo.” Shifting my gaze down to the ground I hadn’t noticed my hat fell off during the process.

“Ah shit…sorry sir.” Snatching it up I placed it on my head quick climbing back on the horse knowing he didn’t like wasting daylight and I always followed his instructions as fast as he said them.

Rip had me following behind him where I griped the reins in my hands bouncing with the horse watching the others herding the cattle in front of us. Normally he was leading the pack but not today. “Go herd up the ones on the side that get loose. You got that?” He kicked his horse to go when I nodded in understanding.

Running down the valley I followed after one cafe that got loose leading it back to the group. Staying close to the group another one got loose where I grabbed my rope throwing it over it head trying to lead it back but it just picked up sped. I screamed when it managed to pull me off my horse and I fell into the dirt. “No, no,…ah fuck!”

“Woah girl, are you alright?” Lioyd came over on his horse holding the reins of mine since it ran off towards him so he brought my horse back over to me.

Holding my right wrist I winced when I tried to bend it a little. “I think I just tweaked my wrist a bit….I thought I roped it the right way.”

“You roped it around the neck when it should have been around the waist so he wouldn’t run on ya. Climb back on your horse and help us finish this out.” Rip responded sternly beside his older friend.

Scurring to my feet I put one foot in the stirrup using my left hand to support most of my weight than my right. I should have done better, sir.” I apologize when Rip glared at me watching me ride off with Lioyd figuring that she meant well.

Once nightfall had come and everyone had their horses up for the night I didn’t come down to the bunkhouse for dinner since I was staying in the spare room of Rip and Beth’s house. Brushing my hair away from my face I had banded my wrist as best as I could and put everything I had in the duffel bag foster care had given to me. I just needed to wait until everyone went to bed to run rather then wait till morning already knowing what would happen. I had messed up way more than someone my age should. “I’m too old to get adopted….I will be better off just waiting until I’m eighteen. Only two more years left being someone else’s problem..”

“When I said don’t think you deserve this. I meant it literally but I didn’t you’d run from it.” Whipping my head around I gasped through tears seeing Rip was leaning in the doorway of my bedroom.

Croaking through tears I scooted up against the pillow and headband avoiding his gaze. “How did you know I’d be here?”

“Cause you didn’t come down for dinner and you ain’t missed a meal since the day you came here. You want to tell me what’s going on with you?” He presses on with his tone being both stern but went softer when he could hear me lightly crying in front of him.

Hugging my knees to my chest I buried my face into them sobbing even more when I struggle to get the words out already sensing what he was going to say next. “I’m a screw up here, Mr. Wheeler. I can’t do half the jobs you give me right…I don’t have great confidence even when I put in as much effort as I can. You see me exactly like everyone else does…a reckless teenager who won’t make it any longer in getting adopted. Cause I don’t follow directions good….so you’re done with me. You’re going to send me back tomorrow.”

“Where the hell did you get an idea like that, sweetheart?” He blurted out raising his voice in shock.

Peaking over my knees with my hair in my eyes I whispered back to him. “That’s what every family I have been with does. Why would you be any different to me?”

“Because you are the hardest working foster kid I have seen. You’ve got good manners and put in almost more effort than any of those bunkhouse boys do. And you ain’t any reckless than most teenagers are.” He came over and sat beside me on the bed removing his black hat when he went to take something out of his jacket. He unfolded a paper and handed it to me. “You are a darn good kid, Y/n. I am hoping to help you improve your confidence in time being here.”

Scanning my eyes over the paper in my small hands I couldn’t hardly believe it. “You want to adopt me..but I….thank you Rip.” Flinging my arms around his neck he was taken back not used to seeing me giving any kind of emotion like this.

“You’re welcome, darling. But promise you will still work as hard as you would if you weren’t gonna be my kid.” He hugged me briefly until he made me look in his eyes when he barely broke the embrace.

Nodding through happy tears I grinned up at the cowboy and lead hand of John Dutton. “Don’t worry I will..uh dad.”

Footsteps came down the hallway where we both glanced over over shoulders noticing that it was his wife. “You better call me mom and come eat this hamburger helper otherwise you’ll face the bear.”

“Yes ma’am.” I jumped off his lap rushing down the hallway making it to the kitchen table almost shoving food into my mouth overjoyed to actually have a place to call home.

Beth smiled at her husband when he stood by her in the hallway watching you. “She’s our kid now, baby.”

“She’s our second change at one and I gotta say she’s a pretty good one.” He responded looping his hand with hers giving her a gentle and the pair joined you at the dinner table.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

[fosterwhat]

It’s been a year since the adoption and in that year of permanency there has been big emotional growth. One of the things that makes me happiest is that Felix has friends this year. For the first time ever, he has kids coming to his birthday party who are actual, reciprocal friends. It took nine years. Nine years of hard work and social skills building and no, it’s still not perfect. But the child who came into my home unable to play with toys has experienced friendship for the first time. And that’s pretty magical.

[lillypadcrochet]

One thing I think we need to stop saying in discussions about reproductive freedom is "are you going to adopt them?" because YES. they are!

Highly conservative Christians adopt and foster a lot of kids. They hold conferences about 'saving the orphans'. They view this as their chance to spread Christianity to those from "unchristian backgrounds". They prop up their public image as charitable, godly people using traumatized kids.

Think about it: a rich family, with one parent staying at home to provide great care for the kids. They have a big house and want a big family. These people are like water in the desert to dcf workers! A family with a great reputation, willing to take in sets of siblings, older kids, disabled kids, you name it! They will take four, five, six kids at a time! Foster care is so tight on homes and really does value family unification, so this is a big deal to them.

And also: these kids will, and really, have no choice but to, be good little Christians and do what they say. You'd better toe the line at this house, because they are a good Christian family. If you break their rules- whether that be behave improperly, dress immodestly, be gay or trans- they will send you back- to sleep in the dcf office, to bounce from home to home every night, to see your siblings every other week in some case workers office.

Because these people are sooooo good and trustworthy, if they say you're a "problem child" you can bet your ass that will follow you and effect your placements til you age out.

So yes, they will adopt them. And those traumatized, desperate-for-attachment children will be used and molded into gods perfect warriors.

idk. I'm rambling, but I hope this makes sense. It's been stewing in my brain for a while and I wanted to share.

[onceuponafosterkid]

This last month with my therapist we have been working on trauma. The older I get, the more I realize how much I am still affected by my childhood abuse. I get frustrated with myself for not being able to be “normal”. Little things like getting overstimulated at work because of noise, or people touching me. Having really intense episodes of depression on a weekly basis. It feels like my brain is broken, like there’s something chemically and physically wrong with my brain. My therapist has brought up some really good points that I hope will help me be kinder to myself. First is that when people go through years of trauma, and have complex post traumatic stress disorder, there a chemical shift in the brain. Nobody goes through trauma and comes out the same as they were before or as people who haven’t been through that trauma. So it makes sense that I struggle with things, my brain is different, and instead of being angry with myself for something that wasn’t my fault, I’m learning how to adapt my life to my needs, which is difficult. The second thing is that I was 12 when I left that house. I’m 21 now. I tell myself that it’s been almost 10 years, I should be fine by now, I should’ve healed and learned how to let go of that pain. She said that those twelve years make up 57% of my life right now. The trauma didn’t end when I ended up I foster care. I’ve been on my own as an adult for 3% of my life, meaning I’ve only spent 3% of my life working towards healing from that 57% percent. It sounds silly to say that I should be fine when I hear the numbers. I know that healing doesn’t have an end, there is no maximum amount of healing you can do in your life because to heal is to grow, and to grow is to be alive. I will be healing for the rest of my life which sounds both exhausting and reassuring. I have the rest of my life to heal, I don’t have to, and I can’t do it all right now. I’ve been putting unrealistic expectations on myself and it’s been exhausting. So now I have to learn how to slow down and go at a pace that feels okay because that’s what it takes to truly heal. I can’t bully myself into feeling okay. It sounds stupid but I have to be gentle with myself and love myself while I do this. Maybe you needed that reminder too. Healing takes time and it takes patience. There’s no timeline or due date, it’s just a process and sometimes the process looks different at various points in your life and that’s okay. It’s supposed to. We’re going to get there one day.

[julezo]

To all the wonderful (young) MHA (Dadzawa) fanfic authors out there:

THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS AN EMERGENCY FOSTER CARE LICENSE. NOT IN JAPAN, NOT IN AMERICA, NOT ANYWHERE.

STUDENTS ARE NOT ALLOWED TO STAY THE NIGHT AT THEIR TEACHER’S HOME. THIS IS A GROSS MISUSE OF POWER, EVEN WHEN NOT INHERENTLY MALICIOUS. HE WOULD BE FIRED FROM UA.

Schools are very strict, especially ones as thorough as UA, about teacher-student relationships. If you want Aizawa to adopt Midoriya, or Shinsou, or anyone else, and you want it to be realistic, he cannot invoke an imaginary foster care license. He cannot do anything abruptly. He has to call the police and report it or he will be fired and potentially charged.

If you worked it into your story that Aizawa was one of the old reliable foster families that social workers knew were willing to sporadically take in new kids, for one or two nights or whole months, then that’s fine. But please please please think of how it would be perceived if a regular teacher was housing one of his young, abused students without alerting the proper authorities.

You don’t want perceived child molester Aizawa. You want Dadzawa. Be aware of how you get there.

[ex-foster]

[irondadfics]

Hey,

i just started looking for a fic that I know I have bookmarked but can’t seem to remember the name of. The big moment in it, for me at least, is when Tony walks into Peter’s new room at the tower to find him hiding food (Peter had either been homeless or in bad foster homes up to this point.) They have a discussion about it and it ends with Tony saying something along the lines of do you need to move your stuff and after Peter says yes, he says ok, apologizes for barging in and giving Pete a moment to himself.

is this the one? I believe the scene is in Chapter 27

The Third Option by Uncertainty_Principle

Homecoming AU. Ben and May divorced before Peter’s parents died, so when Ben is murdered Peter goes into foster care. It takes just a tiny taste of superpowers for Peter to decide he doesn’t want to put up with his horrible foster father anymore—the streets are infinitely more appealing. All he wants is to be Spider-Man anyway. So he leaves. Simple. Simple, that is, until Iron Man needs Spider-Man’s help. Peter isn’t about to turn down an opportunity to fight alongside Tony Freaking Stark, but he also isn’t going to let his hero know that his recruit is a fifteen-year-old homeless dropout. So they strike a deal. Peter will help Tony. In return, the mask stays on. And that’s when things get complicated.

[evilphrog]

Hey, Tamsyn Muir, remember what I said about digging into my worst memories and printing them on a page? Could you maybe not?

And that makes such a difference. I see it in the kids who come here, and I have experienced it in myself. Harrow knows her own account of events to be unreliable. If she tells someone what happened and they say she deserved better, she can’t believe them. After all, maybe she DID get better than she articulated. Maybe it WAS her fault. But Ortus was right there. He saw every moment. If he said it was unfair, well, he knows what he’s talking about.

This is one reason we work so hard to preserve bio family connections and friendships whenever possible. Sometimes, the only trustworthy judge of your past is the person who also saw it.

[moo9395]

Whatever you do don't think about Alex asking Winn for advice about how to care for Esme because he was a foster kid too.

Don't think about Alex comforting Winn as he tells her stories about his own time in the system.

Don't think about Kelly introducing Esme to 'Uncle Winn, mom and Aunty Kara's brother'.

Don't think about Winn crying meeting Esme for the first time because he's so happy that she ended up in such a loving family.

oh no I'm crying.