try to be better with kids!

It’s just that “stop hating on rick he’s trying his best” makes it sound like he’s some kid trying to learn how to ride a bike and we’re making fun of him for falling off. as if he’s reading our blogs and crying himself to sleep at night on his bed of money that we as his consumers gave him. as if us complaining that his comments were lesbophobic and biphobic is somehow bullying like we’re making fun of his hair and the way he smells. We’re literally (mostly) just teenagers ranting on our personal blogs about a man who told us he’d do better than his predecessors and then ignored us when he messed up. We are not hurting his reputation (which u all defend so valiantly), his wealth, or even his ego. He’s not reading our blogs and he obviously doesn’t care that we’re upset. Ur defending nothing and sending vitriolic messages to us in the name of nothing. But have fun on ur pedestal of superiority where u can wave around how much better u are than us for praising allies as our saviors and sending hate to people who are, ya know, actually effected by it rather than a middle aged man who won’t remember this come his next paycheck.

3

Requested by anonymous

“What?” You asked when you noticed both Yondu and Kraglin staring at you. This was your first official mission with the two of them and in your opinion things went quite well but now, seeing the looks on their faces you weren’t so sure.

“I have to say kid…” Yondu placing i hand on your shoulder. He paused as if trying to find the right words. You gulped, scared about what you were about to hear.
“… you handled yourself well out there”.

“I know I could have done better Yondu just- wait what?”.

“Captain’s right” Kraglin piped in “you were great out there. I guess this means we’ll have to take you on more jobs with us”.

You couldn’t help but grin.
“Really?! Great!”.

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

Another reason to stop ‘cringe culture’

I’m a teacher. Today I was covering for a grade 9 science class. Decent kids, if a bit rowdy, and didn’t want to do their work. Wtv, it was textbook work. Not the point.

1 girl (reminder that these kids are, like, 14/15) was doodling bust portraits (head & shoulders) in an art book. I had a squiz and asked her if they were her characters. She said they were and excitedly told me she had so many characters for this one story of hers. I laughed about how I wished I could draw mine, and moved on.

Later in the class, I hear her enthusiastically telling her friend all about her main OC - a gay kitsune prince with a tragic past. It was so, pure, classic Deviant Art: my first OC. And you know what? I loved it. I was just sitting there half overhearing, smiling to myself and glad that her friend was engaging and interested in her story and characters.

This is a girl who will become a creator. She will draw and write and imagine, get better and better. She’ll probably move past this stage and start making more nuanced characters (she was already lamenting she didn’t have enough girl OCs). But this is where she started. This is where so many of us started. I had a tiger catgirl, goth witch/sorceress OC in high school. I found my original design for her recently. Look what I create now.

Let kids be kids. Let them explore and invent and go wild and be cliche and make overpowered OCs. Let them have their anthropomorphic animal OCs. Let them try everything before they settle into maturity.

For fucks sake; let them have fun.

if we’re being honest nd tumblr’s anti recovery attitude is part of what delayed my mental growth and path towards getting better for so long. i got wrapped up in the idea that if i’m not constantly suffering then i’m not really mentally ill or i’m not neurodiverse enough and honestly? that mindset is absolutely pitiful at best, and is the direct reason for suicide and other catastrophes at worst. yeah, mental illness isn’t something to love and be happy about having, so we try and alleviate the effects it has on our lives with jokes about it. but when we let those jokes consume us and become our entire person to the point where we think we’re nothing but the physical embodiment of our illness, there’s a problem! that’s not something to normalize or glorify! that’s dangerous & self destructive behavior and i hate that this site has helped coerce kids as young as 12 or 13 think that it’s okay to want to kill yourself and not ever want to get better because it’s not and all of us know this.

You know what I think about a lot? Tony Stark reeling in the wake of Civil War, going on 72-hour work benders, trying to clean up everyone’s mess and whip the Sokovia Accords into shape and rebuild the decimated team and figure out how he can build Rhodey a new spine and forget about a metal hand squeezing the life out of his mother, and when Happy reports back to him about Peter he hates himself a little for holding the kid at arm’s length, but everyone who’s in his orbit eventually ends up getting hurt and it’s better for everyone if he keeps his distance, but that doesn’t mean he’s not keeping tabs on the kid and sometimes at 4.30 in the morning when stress and anxiety and too much coffee won’t let him sleep he sits in his office and listens to Peter’s inane voicemail messages and can’t stop the helpless smile from tugging on his lips as he learns about a kind old lady buying the kid a churro and for a moment he feels a little less alone and broken.

So, there’s this relatively new member of our team who’s a gossip fanatic, she’s always around chatting everyone up and then reporting the juicest news and hot details she’s given, which is a demeanour our main client is pretty bothered by, therefore she always makes sure to shut up and behave around them.

Two coworkers of mine, me, the Big Boss and our client were arranging and planning a few things, when she burst into the room, not noticing the BB and the Client, who were at that moment having coffe behind the door and she went “ooooh, you know what they say about Louis Tomlinson not actually being the father of his child? Looks like it’s true after all, even though it’s been ages!”

We didn’t have time to gesture to her, that my client appeared from behind the door all frowny and straight faced “yeah, the same ages it took you to dig this oh-so-shocking information up, with that quick, sharp rate of yours you’ll have to start working on the next campaign tomorrow morning if I want it out before 2036″.

2

100 Days of London Flat Memories → (42/100)

MINECART MANIA - Dan and Phil Play: Donkey Kong Country Tropical Freeze #2

quick doodle of Aria and Tela for @cousinslavellan, based on A. Ryder Log #23 of The Misadventures of Aria Ryder (read it over here or here! :D)

[and aaahhh!!! \( ;∀;)/ no-one’s ever dedicated anything to me so i’m so happy  \(;∀   ;)/  thank you so much!!! ♡ ♡ ♡ ]

I think, instead of telling kids ‘don’t do drugs, they’re bad’ we should show them the opiate withdrawal patient I had the other day

25 years old, in jail for god knows what, cops bring him in with a lac to his forehead from banging it on the wall repeatedly. He is already handcuffed so we put him in an isolation room, with sliding glass doors. Because he is in custody we take everything but the bed out of the room. 

Patient is screaming the whole time he doesn’t want to be there (same bro) with blood everywhere from the head lac. 

5min later, I hear this sickening crash, I’m pretty sure someone has just run head first into the glass doors, because mate I’ve done that before those curtains are assholes, so rounding the corner I see blood all over the glass door, patient still screaming he wants out but is now banging his head on the glass. 

It takes 4 security guards to hold this guy down, he is absolutely losing his shit, screaming and flailing and has no idea whats going on. Calling out for his mom, for Neil (???), for a sandwich, doesn’t know what day it is or just refuses to answer we can’t tell, pupils 4mm and sluggish but thats how it was when they brought him in, so security cuffs him to the bed so he can’t hit the wall. 

Fastforward 10 minutes and he has dislocated/broken his wrist trying to get out of the bed and to the door, he has puke and stool everywhere, refused to take the ativan so we gave midaz, but that didn’t touch him. 

This guy screamed from 2-7, we maxed out what we could give him for benzos and he was extraordinarily agitated and wouldn’t settle and was only in the beginning stages of withdrawals. It was terrifying, but the thing that got me was after screaming about how we took the 20′s (from his underwear??) he was quiet for a minute, I thought ‘shit the midaz finally caught up with him and now were gonna need to intubate’ but he then screams

“I don’t want to do this anymore, I don’t want to be on drugs anymore, I want this to stop, I want to be clean, please someone help me”

And thats what got me. This guy was 25, had his whole life ahead of him, but got caught up in drugs and it was going to kill him, and he wanted out, but withdrawals were so bad that it was easier to keep using. 

Fuck telling kids don’t do drugs. Show them what its like to try to stop, how all your friends die from OD, how you are one phonecall-not-made away from death yourself, how you get to be tied to a bed in the ER and your nurses need to apologize to other patients because you can’t stop screaming and just shit yourself and puked the cookie I gave you and your body is on fire. 

Don’t just tell them not to do it, because that doesn’t work, show them what its like to try to stop, because sometimes fear works better than facts. 

Note: Throughout the day we gave him 4 of ativan, 27.5 of Midazlolam and 12 of haldol, and this guy still was still agitated and screaming and 100% inconsolable, and by that time the doc was like ‘we can’t give him anymore, but lets transfer him out before he crashes’. It was a fucking time

Do you know what pisses me off the most about the dreaded “Autism Moms”?

Let me tell you, as an autistic adult who also was a main caregiver for an autistic boy (my brother). 

For the record:  I swear that if you use this post to say autism makes people violent and abusive, I will send 12,000 angry geese to flock in your bedroom and destroy every item that you treasure the most. AND I will eat the leftovers you had planned on eating for lunch tomorrow. Don’t you fuckin dare miss the point of this post. 


Listen up. I got a story for you.


Bit of background first.


My boy, my little hobbit, was born when I was ten years old. My mother left him alone with my grandparents and me. She legit abandoned him. 

My grandparents weren’t sure they could take him in. 
I begged. I pleaded. I asked as hard as I could to let us keep him and not give him back to my mother. 

Of course, they said yes. 

I dutifully became the protective older sister.


I would bathe him up until the week I left for college. I measured his medications and crushed them into his favorite yogurt. Blue, if you were curious.I made sure his food was perfect - french fries made just like he wanted, a chicken fry sandwich complete with his favorite McDonald’s sauce we bought in bulk.  
I went to his speech and occupational therapies several times a week, and practiced the things he learned. I went with him to his first day of school.

I even did a middle school project all about autism (which I am slightly embarrassed about, as I mentioned A$ in it ugh). I read all the autism books a 12 year old could find, and immersed myself in the Vanderbilt paperwork. I delved into the world of IEPs, visual schedules, and basic sign language.

And now, I’m still sending them resources and information on medications, papers for teachers, and going over doctor notes for him - despite being six hours away. 

(Of course, I was an undiagnosed autistic girl who also needed quiet. When I wasn’t needed to do these things, I was often in my room away from the loud television and people. I wasn’t a perfect caregiver, but I did do a lot.)

All of that to say: yeah, it wasn’t easy. But since when is raising a kid ever easy? I started looking after this boy when I was ten years old.

But here’s what infuriates me.

I read all the time about these autism moms who complain about how terrible their lives are. They say they’re afraid of being hurt and their lives are destroyed. Some even talk about killing their kids.


You know what?

Yeah, I got hurt by him or when helping him. I got bit, scratched, hit, and everything else. Usually it was just him being frustrated over lack of communicating his needs, so I was rarely angry. 
I ran after him when he went out the door straight for a lawnmower and I fell to the concrete. I grabbed him right before he ran into a street and ended up with my arm covered in blood.

I was kicked in the head and given a traumatic brain injury that requires me to now use a cane, and has caused a ton of nervous system issues. I even use a wheelchair part-time due to another condition that occurred afterwards. I’m only 20, and my health is pretty comparable to someone with congestive heart failure.

And you know what? 

I never in a million years thought about hurting my little brother.


I still don’t blame him. He was often overwhelmed, and had meltdowns. As an autistic person myself, I understood it - even if I didn’t know I was autistic at the time. (I suspected, but was too focused on other things.) 
I don’t know if I’ll ever get better health-wise, and that’s okay. I don’t know if I’ll get to run and dance again, or if there’s worse effects to come. It’s just what it is, and I’ve accepted that. 

He’s a child. It’s not his fault. He once asked me if it was, and I hugged him tight and said absolutely not. 

I say all this not to demonstrate how violent autistic people can be, but to demonstrate that I get where these autism moms are coming from.

  Again, for the record, autistic people are far more likely to be abused and assaulted. 

Remember how I said  I get where they’re coming from?

Yeah, that’s still not an excuse to be harmful toward your child. Ever.


You don’t give your babies bleach, shock them, or starve them. You don’t talk about them as if they’re literally a death sentence for you. And you sure as hell don’t want to murder your little ones. 

And if you literally want to kill your kid, if you would rather have a dead child than an autistic one, I have news for you.

You don’t deserve that child, and you better back up and understand this.


You autism moms need to stop. You need to listen. 


Your kids are going through a world that wants to “cure” them, force them into suffering so they can look “normal.” Your kids are going to spend their entire lives dealing with a world that is hostile to them. People try to assimilate us to save their own pride, at the expense of our own comfort and stability. 
Your kid is going to go through life being told that they should be literally “treated” with electroshock therapy because of their neurology. They’re going to be told that they shouldn’t reproduce. They’re going to be told that they’re not worth having space in this world. Your kid is going to grow up one day, and they’re going to hear this and internalize it. 

I know that, because that’s what I hear every day. 

You say it’s so hard to have an autistic kid?

Well, of course it is. But you know what?

Kids are hard.
They’re going to kick, hit, pinch, and everything else. Even neurotypical kids do that. I don’t know a single kid who hasn’t bit their caregiver or thrown something when grumpy. 
(I’ll say it again for those in the back: autistic kids are way way way more likely to be abused and hurt.)

When you have a kid, you sign up for this. You love that little one unconditionally, you protect them with all your heart. You give them support. You love that child even if they have a disability, especially when they have a disability.

You teach them that they are allowed to exist, that they are just as valuable and needed in this world like anyone else. We need all the neurodiversity in this world we can get. 

You teach your child that they’re not a burden. You teach them how to say no and that autonomy is often more important than compliance. You teach them that you love them, and that they will always have someone in their corner to back them up when times are tough.


I don’t care how hard you think it is raise an autistic child.

Trust me, I know full well it’s hard. Parenting is hard. It’s not easy, and it’s not always roses and fluffy kittens. That has nothing to do with having an autistic kid; that’s just a fact of life. 

The fear of getting hurt is valid. I can attest to that, and I don’t think I can downplay that. But that behavior is communication, and you have to learn how to read it. I did. You have to fight for better supports, for ways to make it easier on your kid - and by doing this, easier for you too. 


Sure, it’s hard.

But you know what? Your kid’s going to have it much harder. 

Enjoying the view of a peaceful world.

Keep reading

I think I’m going through a little bit of an art block *sigh*

2

Dumb polaroids from some of the the Starblaster Crew, you know at some point in 100 years they found SOMETHING resembling an instax.

i wasn’t going to post these but fuck it! It was just an exercise and I was hoping to do more better ones with the rest of the gang, maybe some day yall.

when eric bittle is 8 years old his aunt judy marries a Northeasterner named jacob birkholtz and suddenly he’s not the weirdest cousin anymore, it’s this gangly 12 year old named adam who Did Not Want to move to georgia and now they’re stuck in the same town together

  • yeah, aunt judy is holster’s step mom 
    • this is random but holster’s dad is a pilot and aunt judy is a flight attendant and they have like the cutest dating stories ever
      • their first date was in paris (at the charles de gaulle airport which is actually hell but they tell people it was at a little cafe and don’t mention it happened to be in in terminal 3)
  • so holster and his dad move down to georgia and it’s Awkward because everyone is welcoming but distant because they’re so clearly Different (northern accents, don’t know the family history, Jewish, really don’t care that much about jam [but they learn. oh, do they learn]).
  • suzanne is like so heckin jazzed to have her sister back in the same city so she and judy get together all the time and holster and bitty are forced to hang
    • bitty thinks holster is snarky and obnoxious and holster thinks bitty is too peppy and weird and they’re sitting at the kids table together at thanksgiving and holster is grumpily shoving mashed potatoes in his mouth and bitty can’t believe he’s not even putting GRAVY on them like WHAT is WRONG WITH HIM 
      • meanwhile holster’s just trying to figure out why everyone keeps saying “bless your pea-pickin heart” 
    • coach and holster form a football-based bond where they just sit on the couch next to each other and mumble stats back and forth while they watch the game
      • bitty is jealous because it’s not fair that this stranger relates to his dad better than he does but holster is jealous because bitty’s dad is home every night while his dad is off flying around the world
        • do they bond over their daddy issues?? you fuckin bet
  • holster joins a hockey team and he sees the tail end of bitty’s training with katya because there’s like one ice rink in their town and he’s like so impressed that his tiny strange cousin does ice magic
    • holster becomes peak Team Bitty. he begs to be taught jumps and ice skating moves, he starts doing the mixes for bitty’s routines, they go skating together and race even though bitty always wins 
    • bitty starts doing drills with holster and that’s how he initially gets into hockey
      • he uses holster’s old gear and stick and stuff and it’s all way too big but so so so cute
      • like, tiny baby bitty with his loud cousin watching hockey for the first time and holster’s actually like patiently taking the time to explain everything because bitty is so impressed by the game
  • holster refers to them a brousins (bruh - sinz, brother cousins)
    • they’re the bittle-birkholtz-brousins there’s a lot of alliteration ok 
  • they’re both outsiders in their family and they end up spending half their family gatherings eating a secret pie bitty stashed, listening to one of holster’s playlists on his first generation ipod, gossiping about their entire town
    • bitty is one of the few people holster likes
    • holster is one of the few people who like bitty
  • BITTY AT HOLSTER’S BAR MITZVAH 

i have a billion more ideas for this verse so if you’re interested i’ll keep going with Bittle-Birkholtz-Brousins Part 2: puberty and beyond

Fruits - Peter Parker

request -  hi! i was wondering if you could write something about a peter x fem!reader where she’s homeschooled and doesn’t have friends and then she meets peter and they become close ? thanks!! 

a/n - i changed the request up a bit, and made the reader tony’s daughter to give it an even more ‘fluffy’ feel to it and i think it failed horribly BUT thank you so much for 1k!!! i can’t even believe all the love i’m getting for these fics, it makes me so happy to know you guys like them :) don’t forget to request a peter parker/spider-man fic if you’d like and follow!

I sat at the dining table just across from the living room, headphones in as I watched a math lesson that was just uploaded onto my school’s website. It was just around 10 AM when my school day started, a bowl of freshly cut fruits on the table as I took notes in my small book, sometimes glancing around to see if something more entertaining was going on.

Being the kid of a billionaire had it’s perks, but some downsides to it as well. Sure, I was able to access anything through money, but I was stuck at home a good 99% of my life, hidden away from the public eye at the request of my father. I’ve never been able to go to school and have a ‘normal’ life, with my only friends being the middle aged people the world calls the Avengers.

I paused the lesson and took my headphones out, heading out to the kitchen counter to pour a cup of coffee for myself, only to hear the door opening.

Keep reading

@kinfirms​ tagged me in a post talking about how internet “mom” culture is toxic, (I saw your tags, dont worry <3) and wanted to talk about it a little, but without the queer phobic language it was giving off.

For the most part, I fully and readily agreed with parts of the post detailing how adults can and do behave inappropriately in online spaces towards minors, and how the parental name thing can be a power move. 

I grew up with a lot of fandom “mom” types, who with hindsight, turned out to be rather toxic and predatory. One of them actually took great joy in being a “corrupting” force, and would make lewd jokes and inappropriate comments towards us. And us being vulnerable kids who wanted to fit in and belong went along with it, because it made us feel special to be talked to like we were fellow adults. 

Except we weren’t fellow adults and nor were we being treated as such. We were impressionable youths being treated like toys to stroke an older person’s ego, and that was 110% not okay, and those adults should have known better not to engage with us on those topics.  

I’m hyper aware of being an older person in certain groups now, and try to act accordingly. I try to distance myself while managing to remain encouraging and supportive and hopefully, a positive signifier that people like me can and do grow up into happy (semi-)functional adults. I know there were times growing up when I feared I would not.

I will also never insist that anyone call me “mom”. It’s not a name I picked for myself. It’s an honorific deserving of great respect and mindfulness towards those who gave it to me, not the other way around. People can use it if they want to, and I will respond to it if people use it, but it’s not a role or title or sign of authority, and it’s 100% up to others if they want to use it or not, I don’t mind either way. And just for the record, I also respond to Aunt, Sister, Cousin, Bib, or even my rarely used actual name, Joy :)

I work very hard to respect the boundaries of others, and adhere to my own rules of interaction. I don’t follow back anyone under the age of 18 (with very few exceptions), and I always try to ensure the age of someone when they start talking to me about certain things. 

Most of the people calling me “mom”? Seem to be in their early 20s, chronically ill or queer like me, and or at college age and going through that weird panicked stage of “help, I need an adultier adult how the heck do you make a food budget” so it’s not too much of a problem, but I still take those extra steps anyway. 

I tag my work, I put it under cuts and generally make it known that I don’t want anyone under the age of 18 to read my 18+ work, because it’s the responsible adult thing to do—and it’s my responsibility to lay down those terms. Not the minor. 

If a minor ignores my requests, my tags and the numerous other steps I put in the way to keep my NSFW work hidden? That’s on them, and I can only hope they find it positive and maybe possibly affirming as well—just don’t tell me about it. (I speak from experience, as a minor who went onto 18+ forums looking for something that would show I wasn’t alone with my thoughts and feelings. I found acceptance in queer fanfic that society and family otherwise denied. I wasn’t awful for liking both Superman and Louise Lane, I wasn’t awful and wrong or alone for not being sure if I wanted to be Princess Leia or be with her. And that was very important for 15 year old me, even if it would take another 15 years for me to feel safe enough to tell others.)

When people started calling me “mom” of their own volition, I had a real internal debate over how I felt over using that same moniker others had used before me, and done so in a harmful manner. I wasn’t too keen on it at first, it felt weird, but when people kept on using it without me prompting them to, I came to the decision that hey, it’s just a fun nickname poking fun at my personality, so I just kinda rolled with it. But I also made the conscious decision that if I was going to allow for that nickname, I would strive very hard to be worthy of it and be the adult I needed as a young person, and not like the people I had known.

But that all said? Not all adults take this mindset, and do not behave appropriately towards teenagers and young adults, and you should absolutely be wary of anyone who puts themselves in that position of authority.* It makes me extremely uncomfortable when I see other adults talk about younger people as their “minions” or pets. 

They are not. 

They are people who are deserving of your fundamental respect and often looking for some sort of help or guidance from a role model they lack in real life, or even just want friendly people to talk to about the things they love. They are not there to prop up your ego. Don’t do that shit. Reflect on your own behavior and say “if this was my child, would I be happy about the way I am interacting with them?” 

If the answer is “no” or “I’m not sure”, that’s also a no, and you need to back the fuck off and reevaluate how you interact with others as a whole.

If you are in a fandom or online forum space where the adults are not behaving mindfully of your age, undermine you, or insist on inserting themselves in your life as an authoritarian parental figure? Go with your gut instinct and get the fuck out of dodge. 

You are no one’s minion. You are you, with your own boundaries and levels of comfort. Don’t let anyone try to take them from you or make you feel bad for being uncomfortable with their behavior. That’s a common tactic used by abusers, and if you say to someone “what you are doing makes me uncomfortable” and their response isn’t “I’m sorry, how can I change that?”, but defensive anger or guilt tripping you? Fuck ‘em. There are other groups, other people to talk to. Make your own if you have to. Block anyone that makes you feel uncomfortable. You don’t have to put up with that bullshit to prove your own maturity or worth.


*And just because I feel this is important to say: please question me. Challenge me, point out when I say or do something that makes you feel uncomfortable. I won’t be mad or offended. I welcome corrective feedback. Tell me if I use an out dated term or if I word something poorly so I can apologize, reevaluate my behavior and try to change for the better. I’m human and therefore always learning and making mistakes, but they come from a place of ignorance, never malice. Take care of yourselves out there <333

Hers

And there he stands in all his glory, laughing at something Chris Nolan said to him, a glass of whisky in his hand and his arm around her waist. And all I could do was stand here, from afar, watching them.

“He’ll notice if you keep staring, darling.” Anne handed me a glass of champagne.

“I-I-I was not staring. Just looking how wonderful they are together.” I could feel my face turn red by the second.

“Oh, darling, don’t try to fool yourself, I know you have feelings for him.” She smiled lightly at me. “Actually, I always thought you’re going to be together.”

My smile faltered and I looked at the floor. Silly Y/N, of course Anne knew. Apparently, everybody did! The boys, Gemma, Lou and now Anne. Clearly, I am not very good in hiding my feelings for my best friend. The guy who knows me better than anyone and yet can’t realize how much I adore him.

Harry and I have been friends since we were kids, really. Eventually we went separate ways: He went out to become the biggest celebrity out there and I went to college. Even though we lived in different worlds, we never stopped talking. We’re still best friends even after all this time.

I love him.

But it wasn’t always like this. When we’re younger, our parents used to tell us we would eventually get married. We’re too perfect for each other, that’s something we always knew, even though we didn’t have this types of feeling for each other.

It was in my senior year of college that this said feelings started to show. I spent a few weeks with him and the boys while they’re on tour and suddenly I started to fall for my best friend. If you have seen any movie out there, you would think that the feeling was mutual and we’re happily ever after. Not how things turned out, I’m afraid to tell you. I spent 6 weeks trying to find a way to tell him my feelings, even asked for the boys’ help, but when I was close to figure a way out, he met her. And gosh, how much he adored her. Since the beginning!

You know that stupid line that said when you love someone, you gotta let them go and find their happiness? His happiness was she and I couldn’t stand in the way of that. Even though I knew I loved him more than she could ever love him, it was time for me to set him free.

So I came back. Came to the UK, finished college and found a job I actually like. My life is all put together, as Harry likes to remind me. He’s right, my life is put together, except for my love life. I tried so hard to get over him, to not have feelings for him. I dated, I tried everything I could, but he was always there, in the back of my mind, even when I met my ex-boyfriend, Daniel. We broke up a few months later because he knew I had feelings for my best friend. Poor Dan, such a nice guy and I couldn’t love him.

Harry came back home. And moved in with her, much to my dismay. They’re together for 3 years now and they don’t seem to be breaking up anytime soon. I’m not gonna lie, I’ve thought about telling him, just to get it out of my chest, but I can’t. I cannot ruin this for him. I would rather suffer in silence than ruin his happiness and our friendship.

“Have you thought about telling him?” She asked me while we watched the couple from afar.

“I did.” I whispered. “I just can’t. He’s happy, Anne. He deserves to be happy.”

“My son is a fool, darling. He doesn’t know, but he does have feelings for you. A mother always know and I’m telling you he does. But I understand your side, I just don’t wanna see you both losing time with other people when you could be together!”

I breathed a laugh. Anne was always our biggest supporter, so it’s not a shock to me she would rather me with her son than his actual girlfriend. The poor girl is not a bad girl; she’s just not right for him.

She doesn’t get it how he can be such a morning person, always waking up at a 100%, telling everyone ‘good morning’ in his raspy voice. She thinks its annoying, but the truth is if he doesn’t do this, we’ll go back to sleep and miss his whole day. She doesn’t get his obsession for good health, but if she just asked him about it, she would understand he actually believes that those junk foods can kill you slowly, and he can’t lose anyone in his life, so we all have to eat health food. At least around him. She doesn’t understand how he can feel so down after reading mean comments on the internet, because for her how could The Harry Styles feel anything less than perfect?! He thinks he’s not worth it, even though he truly does deserve everything good that ever happened to him. However, he has insecurities, because by the end of the day, he is just Harry. And all he really wants is cuddles and a few reassurance words that those people are just mean people and are not telling the truth.

She doesn’t know him and a part of me thinks she just doesn’t want to. Yes, she knows what he likes for breakfast, what calms him when his in a bad mood, but she doesn’t know the little things I do.

It’s sad, if you think about it. He’s been with her for 3 years and she doesn’t get him. Maybe that’s why when he needs someone, he runs to me. He runs to my house at 3 A.M just so he could talk about his bad day. She never saw him cry, because he only cries when we’re alone and he can truly show his feelings. I’m the first person he calls when something good or bad happens. I’m his emergence contact in the hospital, I’m his safe place to go when he needs to just take a break. I’m the one who could leave her whole life on hold, just to take care of him when needed.

It’s sad because even thought I am his person, I’m not his and he’s not mine. She has him and I can’t truly express how much I wish that could be me.

“He looks nervous.” I pointed out to Anne.

“I was about to ask you this… Do you know why? He’s been like this for a few weeks now.” She looked deep in thought, trying to find a reason for her son odd behavior.

“I think…” I was interrupted by Louis, who looked out of breath.

“You need to stop him, he will make a terrible mistake, please Y/N, stop him!”

“Louis, what’s going on? What are you talking about? Breathe, Lou.”

“You don’t get it, he’ll…”

“Can I have everyone’s attention, please?” Harry called out from the center of the room. The party quickly died down, waiting for his speech. “I would like to thank you all for coming to my Dunkirk party. It’s so nice to enjoy the movie’s success with all of you, so thank you!”

Everyone around the room clapped and Louis was fussing by side. He looks nervous and I couldn’t understand why.

“As you know this is a special night for me and I wanted to be even more special. Lexa, can you come here, darling?” He asked his girlfriend to join him and I could already feel the tension growing around me. Anne, Louis, Niall, Liam, Lou and Gemma surrounded me and we all were just waiting for something to happen. Anything.

“Lexa, we’ve been together for 3 years next week and I feel so blessed to have you by side. I was smitten with you since the moment I saw you, you can ask Y/N for confirmation.” Everybody laughed a little and I could feel a knot in my through already. “So, in this special date for me and surrounded by friends and family, I would like to ask you…” he got down on one knee. “Will you marry me?”

And just like that my world stopped. I couldn’t hear anything, but I could see her nod and everyone clap for them. I think the boys were talking to me, but I could barely understand what was happening.

He proposed to her.

He is hers.

She is his.

And just like that I realized that all these years loving him, taking care of him, weren’t enough to make him fall for me. I was a silly girl who believed in the fairy tale that everyone thought we would live. I loved him with everything in me, I was always his but he was never mine.

And just like that I ran out of the party, leaving everyone – including the love of my life – behind.

I was always his.

He was never mine.

He was always hers.

*** 

Part 2

It’s been a while, I know, but I hope you’ve liked this. Please, leave me your thoughts about this oneshot, talk to me pleeease. Sorry for any mistakes, English is not my first language!

All the love, B. 

MASTERLIST

Female Chinese Adoptee in the US

Hi, I’m a female Chinese adoptee who spent more time with a foster mother than in the orphanage. I was adopted before I was half a year old by a white American single mother, and later raised by two white American parents once she married. I have a younger sister who is also adopted from China, but we aren’t blood related at all (yes people do ask me if we are). I grew up in a largely white portion of the south and went to religious schools with largely white populations (My mom did not adopt me from some misguided Christian white supremacist stance of saving me). I’m currently getting a degree in theater and film, so well thought out representation and minority stories are very important to me. Every adoption story is different, and as far as I can find, you only have the one POC profile on Chinese adoption and I wanted to give my point of view for variation.

I want to preface this by saying that my adoption has had a big impact on my life, but it is not my identity, and the impact it’s had isn’t something that I was consciously thinking about as it happened. It’s mainly as I’ve gotten older and looked back that I’ve realized how it has impacted certain aspects of my life. Growing up, my adoption isn’t something that was always on my mind, and it’s only through trying to better understand myself and who I identify as that I’ve come to analyze it more. Also sorry this is super long, I just wanted to be thorough.

Beauty Standards

Again, not something I consciously thought about when I was younger. Contrary to the popular stereotypes and fixations about Asian eyes, the shape of my eyes wasn’t something I thought about. What I was self-conscious about when I was a kid was how “flat” my face was, especially my nose. I felt like I didn’t have any definition, and because I didn’t grow up seeing many other Asian people or POC for that matter, I didn’t understand that different races had different facial structures. I just internally accepted that the caucasian facial structure was how people were supposed to look. I’ve since accepted the way I look, and while I don’t think I’m the hottest chick out there, I like the way I look.

Culture

When I was young, my mother enrolled me in Mandarin Classes and Chinese Culture classes/camps designed for Chinese adoptees to help me connect to my native culture and to surround me with other people like me. At one point I was even enrolled in a Chinese Fan Dance class if I remember correctly. I’m sure I had fun with some of them, just as I’m sure my attention span was short when I was a kid and that I got bored quickly. I didn’t have a problem with them at the time, but looking back I do remember feeling mildly annoyed with going to the events specifically for adopted kids because if felt like people just assumed we’d be friends because off of us shared the adoptee experience. I get that same feeling of annoyance when people to this day tell me “Oh, so and so is adopted from China too! You’d like her,” because I personally resent the idea that people assume my adoption is my identity and that alone is enough for me to connect with someone.

Identify Issues

I have always identified as a Chinese-American. My parents were always very honest with me about my adoption for as long as I can remember, so I was always somewhat aware that I was different. That being said, growing up surrounded by white people meant that the people I identified with where white, and there was a time in middle school where a teacher mentioned something about me being different in regards to my race (we were talking about casting for the school play). For a good 5 minutes I was confused about what she meant until I remembered that I was Chinese and not white like everyone else. That’s a moment that’s stuck with me throughout my life and I’ve always been a little ashamed of forgetting myself.

Recently I was asked if I identify as an immigrant, and I didn’t know how to answer. Technically I am one. At one point I had a green card and my mother had to fill out paperwork to make me a US citizen, so I don’t feel like I wasn’t an immigrant, but I also don’t identify with the typical image of immigrants. My story of finding my place in America isn’t the typical story of POC immigrants so I don’t necessarily feel solidarity with them. 

Within Asian Americans’, there’s been a stereotype about them being too Asian, but not Asian enough which is something I’ve also struggled with on both sides. In high school when I mispronounced pho, I was accused of being a “bad Asian” by a white friend, but when I was talking diversity politics with a teacher, my point of view was dismissed because she knew I was adopted so I was “basically white anyway.” While I do try to defer to the point of view of Asian immigrants and descendants of immigrants when it comes to certain topics and experiences, I also think it’s important for people to understand that when I interact with the majority of people, I am treated as an Asian woman. I live life as an Asian woman, not a white woman. Alternatively, because I grew up in such a white area, I admit that I grew up with a lot of internalized racism and have found myself judging mixed race Asians for the same thing from time to time though I am actively trying to unlearn that habit.

Honestly, as I get older and try to understand who I am more, the more confused I get over my identity. It’s still something I’m working to understand.

Language

Outside of the Mandarin classes I went to briefly as a kid, I also took 3 semesters of Mandarin in college to fulfill my language requirement. I did actively choose to take Mandarin because I thought it was important for me to learn, not because of my culture, but because as an aspiring Chinese American actress, many breakdowns for roles require a knowledge of fluent Mandarin. I am not fluent. I fulfilled my requirement and haven’t pursued it any further as of yet. I might try again in the future.

Daily Struggles

Since turning roughly 18, whenever I go places with my parents, we’re typically asked if we want to split the check, but if my younger sister is with us, no one asks. I don’t know if it qualifies as a struggle, but it’s something I’ve noticed that biological parents and children don’t go through as much. I’ve also come to explain that I’m adopted when I’m talking about my childhood or my past. I do it partially to give context to whatever story I’m about to tell or for whatever I’m explaining. Ex: I’ve had to explain my background during a workshop when I wrote a paper on representation in media for Asian Americans because the people reading the paper didn’t know I was Asian American simply from the context of the personal experiences I presented in the paper and were guessing my race off of my white sounding name. I’ve also had to explain my background when another Asian American commented repeatedly that I “sound so white.” I’m also very open about the fact that I’m adopted if people ask because it’s not something I’m ashamed of, and I want to normalize the idea of adoption.

When I was only a couple years old there was a girl who made fun of me for being adopted. It’s one of my mom’s favorite stories, because rather than letting the girl get to me, I said something snarky in return, but I’m assuming that’s why I try to normalize the idea of adoption, because being adopted doesn’t make me any less of a person than someone who is still with their biological parents.

I also witnessed a lot of the Asian eye jokes, but curiously enough they were never directed at me. I guess that says something about the kind of environment I lived in, because when I said something to a boy drawing an “Asian smiley face” he looked stunned and was surprised that I was Asian. I guess this instance doesn’t have as much to do with adoption but is more of a comment on the stereotype about how Asians are supposed to look distorting the fact that we actually look like regular human beings and not caricatures.

Dating and Relationships and Home/Family Life/Friendships

I’m putting these two in the same category because my abandonment issues have had a similar impact on them. As a kid, I always hated leaving when we were visiting my out of state grandmother or whenever my mom would go on a work trip. I would cry and fuss, and even as an adult, I hate saying goodbye for a long period of time. Intellectually, I know I’ll see these people again, but emotionally I worry about what if? I also get really scared and start tearing up if my parents are late coming to pick me up from the airport when I come to visit. I worry about being left alone. And I want to emphasize that this isn’t a conscious, “Oh, I’m adopted, I’m worried I’m going to be abandoned again” type thing. So much of these feelings are internalized and subconscious. It’s just that fear of never seeing someone you care about again, and even though I’m a logical person who knows that they’re just late, I can’t override that fear.

I have never had a romantic relationship and I have a few close friends, but I’m not the life of the party. I’ve always been careful about forming connections with people and have even actively resisted it when I was younger and was going to camps or doing something where I’d only see these people for a small amount of time. I had the mentality of “It’s not worth it because I’ll never see them again,” and that’s another thing I’m trying to overcome, because I still don’t like making connections if I know they’re not going to last. For similar reasons, I’m also very bad at vocalizing my affections and feelings towards people. I’ve never liked letting people close, and there was a time when I was a teen where I even distanced myself from my family, and that’s a bridge I’m still trying to repair to this day.

My family has always been understanding of the fact that I’m dealing with a lot when it comes to understanding my adoption and my identity, but there are also some things that they don’t understand and it can be hard to talk to them about things like my cultural identity and growing up around tons of micro-aggressions that they’ve never had to deal with. 

Misconceptions

The idea of who my real parents are. The idea of one set of parents being more valid than the other just seems fucked up to me, especially when it’s been posed to me as “So if they tell you to do something, do you ever just say, ‘No, you’re not my real parents, you can’t tell me what to do.’” My adopted parents are still my parents. I also think of my biological parents as my parents. I have never hated or resented my biological parents for giving me up nor have I ever used my adoptee status as an excuse to act out towards my adopted parents. While I do know about the One Child Policy, I don’t know the specific circumstances surrounding why I was given up for adoption. I don’t see the point in being angry about it without knowing the whole story, and I’ve come to terms with the fact that I may never know the whole story.

I also don’t feel particularly grateful towards my adopted parents or like I owe them anything for adopting me. Don’t get me wrong, I still love them, but I’m not actively trying to repay them for adopting me. I don’t owe them my life, they’re just my family.

Self-Esteem

I had a lot of self-esteem issues growing up, and they still persist today. They aren’t something I linked back to my abandonment issues until I sat down and talked to a therapist. I’ve always been a perfectionist to the point where I was never happy with anything I did, unless it was perfect. I literally never felt good enough. Part of the reason I distanced myself from my family is because I didn’t want to be a bother. Intellectually I knew I wasn’t going to be abandoned again, but I still felt like I had to be as good as I could possibly be to make sure. This is another one of those things that was never consciously thought about, it’s just how things were. I didn’t feel like I or whatever issues I was having was worth the trouble of bothering people, especially my parents, so I just didn’t, and had a habit of keeping a lot of things bottled up inside without telling anyone*. It’s another thing I’m also currently working to better my perception of myself.

*Just because I was trying to be a good kid and didn’t vocalize affection much does not act as an excuse for writing a submissive, emotionally stunted stereotype of a Chinese Adoptee. I am also snarky and sarcastic and opinionated and outgoing with my friends.

Things I’d like to see less of

Stop using adoptees in the abortion argument in general, especially if you don’t understand the adoption process or the issues adoptees face. Stop asking me to choose who my real parents are. It also bothers me the way people romanticize adoption, even if it’s people in various fandoms goofing around. People who adopt are not saints. Fandoms who make light of adoption and squee about wanting to adopt a character or wanting one character to adopt another makes light of a whole situation. Adoption is a great thing. It’s great for kids without families to get a family, but it’s also a painful thing for the kid, because a kid needing to be adopted means that they’ve also lost a family at a young age. Please be sensitive of that. Don’t romanticize adoption. People trying to empathize with those internalized feelings of abandonment and mistrust when they don’t have the same or similar experiences. Other people are allowed to feel those things, but please understand that the degree of what we feel is immense. From a personal perspective, when people try to do that, it feels like they’re making light of what I feel.

Things I’d like to see more of

Just normalizing the idea of adoption and understanding the good and the bad. Adoption stories in media that don’t hinge on the angsty, rebellious adoptee being angry at their adoptive parents. Stories that give adoptees identities outside of their being adopted. Understand that all adoptees are not the same. We all have different experiences based on race, religion, the region we’ve been adopted into, the kind of parents we have. There are so many variables that make up who we are.

Interruptions

Request: “peter parker smut where the reader is either the daughter of an avenger or maybe just an avenger or something but she lives in the avengers compound (let’s just say peter decided to take tony up on his offer) and she’s dating peter and he sneaks into her room and just as they’re about to start round 2 one of the avengers catches them”

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: SMUTTT

“Good job team.” Tony gave a forced smile before quickly retreating to get a drink.

You looked to Peter, who was still heaving with bloody tears in his suit. You pulled him by the arm wordlessly to your room, sitting him down while you retrieved your first aid kit. He was still a little dazed from the fight, but as you pulled out a clean needle he gave you an adorable smile.

“If you say ‘this isn’t going to hurt’ I’m going to-“

“Kill me?” You smirked. Peter huffed a laugh, leaning back as you started stitching his wounds.

“You know, I think we’re too good for each other sometimes. We can barely get out a sentence without the other knowing how it’ll end.” You shook your head with a rogue smile. “We’re becoming a gross, sappy couple. I hate it.”

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