Adoption - Tumblr Posts

I'm on a roll today......

Chapter 49 is up 😊😊😊😊😊😊

wasn’t this how it went?

bonus:

Mandela Catalogue bitty box masterlist

Help a tiny alternate find a home :)

https://at.tumblr.com/rosemaryblossoms/the-preacher-mandela-catalogue-bitty-box/9kfo2wl2227c

Bury Me After I Fall

A suicidal person dangles their feet over a rooftop in the rain. They don't know if they jumped or not.

Liminal Space: occupying a position, or on both sides of, on the threshold of in between.

Purgatory: a place or state of suffering inhabited by the souls of sinners who are expiating their sins before going to heaven.

Chapter inspired by "i used to have nothing and then" by dirgewithoutmusic

"This wasn't real. They were either falling, or fallen. They weren't in heaven, or hell, but a space in between. When they hit the ground (had they hit the ground?) they knew what it would cost."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You didn't know what was going on.

You didn't feel themselves hit the ground — but all of the sudden, you were standing in an empty banquet hall with a mile-long oakwood table in the center, golden light glinting off the surface. There wasn't any sound except for your harsh breathing — residue from the adrenaline.

"Why are you here?"

The voice echoed from all around them. You turned, but didn't see anyone.

"Who's there?" You called. You spun again. "What's going on?" You blinked, breath faltering. "I — I died. I'm supposed to be dead." You blinked rapidly. "Why am I not dead?"

"Why are you here?" 

"I wanted to die," You said, simply.

"Why?"

"Why do you want to know?" You asked. "Are you God? Is this some sort of ... test?" You gazed at the hall. It seemed endless, stretching along towards the end of the horizon as strange gold light bounced off the banquet table.

"Why now?" 

"Because I wanted to."

The voice considered them. "Everything comes at a cost," it said. "But you already know that, don't you?"

You backed away as you were quickly swallowed by the plummeting darkness.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You were born once, from a sixteen year old girl who committed an act she thought she was ready for. You were born in a cold hospital room, six pounds and eight ounces of screaming, quickly swaddled. Your mother wasn't ready, but she loved you even as she gave you up to the two husbands' in the room. The two men cried as they cradled their new child. They weren't blood, but they loved you. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You hit the ground, knees slamming on the cement. "Fuck."

Harsh sunlight beat down you as you took note of your surroundings. You were on a playground, with plastic slides and metal monkey bars and creaky swings. A huge tree stretched to the sky a little ways away.

You slowly rose to their feet, joints creaking. "What am I doing here again?" You asked.

Again. You knew this place. You’ve been here before. You grew up here.

You walked past the playground and made your way to the tree, touching the bark. The summer sun dripped through the shaded branches.

"A cost," the voice hissed. "A life." 

You startled as a dull thud came from the other side of the tree. A boy, not older than eleven, gripped strands of hair from a kid as he slammed their head into the tree. A sneer twisted his face as the kid trembled beneath him.

"A cost," you watched in horrified fascination as the voice pulled at the boy's mouth. "A life."

You stepped back out of range of the boy, feeling sick. "What are you doing?" You asked. "Stop it."

The boy took a step forward and you flinched back, instinctively. He stopped and stared at you with an unreadable gaze. "You're still running away?" He said. "Even when you're older and stronger than me?"

"Shut up." You snapped. "What is this? A test? A riddle?" You glanced down at your own frozen face, your younger self unaware of the conversation as your eyes burned holes into the ground.

The bully perked up. "You were always better at tests, weren't you?" He said. "That's why I was always so mad at you."

"Oh yeah?" You asked sarcastically, hurt and rageful as you stared at the bully that took up so many years and thoughts and days. The bully stared back at you, the pimples dotting his forehead shiny and raised. He seemed so small for someone who had such a huge impact on your life.

"I'm sorry."

"No you're not."

"I am. I cried when I found out."

"Found out?" You repeated. Your heart pounded. How could your heart pound? You were dead. You weren't in heaven, or hell, but a space in between. You were either falling, or fallen.

This wasn't real.

The bully stared at you, and you stared back. Taking a step back, a tendril of darkness snaked around your ankle and yanked you down.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You were raised once, from two loving fathers who would take you in their arms and smother you with scratchy kisses. From lazy Sundays with buttery sunlight creeping through the window's blinds. With pancakes and orange juice while watching bad cartoons dance on the TV. From crushing hugs and you being tossed in the air as gravity took over and you landed in their arms. 

Your dads always caught you. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You slammed back into you body as you gasped, kneeling on all fours. Trembling, you scanned the room, the itchy red carpet underneath you biting into your palms and knees.

You looked down. A flimsy drawing looked back, waxy colors scrawled all over the paper as crayons littered the floor. You knew this drawing. You knew this room, this carpet, this house.

You knew what would happen.

Arms wrapped around your torso, and you resisted the urge to scream as an overwhelming perfume made you choke from behind. "A cost," your neighbor hissed. "A life." 

You wrenched yourself out of the neighbor's arms, stomach turning. Your dads' were on date night, and decided to drop you off at their neighbor's place. The husbands' didn't notice how the neighbor's smile turned sharp and her eyes landed on you. Goosebumps had exploded throughout your skin.

"You know what it feels like to be taken apart," said the voice. "You know what it feels like to become unmade." 

Your neighbor's eyes blazed with sinful intentions as she took a step forward, a saccharine smile on her lips as she —

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The sky opened up as they dangled their feet over the roof of a building, rain pouring in sheets as it soaked their clothes. 

You hit the ground, and you were watching little kids running around, shrieking with joy as they ran over the place you were beat up yesterday —

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You hit the ground, and were immediately slammed into a brick wall by your classmates —

You hit — your grades were dropping, and anxiety tightened your heart as the teacher held you back after class —

Again — your dads' were disappointed, one angry, one worried, as they took away your belongings after dinner —

You hit the ground — it was a cycle, wasn't it? Kids laughed at you when you did good in school, beat you up, you dropped your grades, your dads' got disappointed, and then the sweet neighbor offered to give you tutoring lessons while your dads' had date night and —

"Why are you showing me this?!" You screamed as bloody spittle flew from your mouth after all the times you hit the ground. "My life was shitty, I know! I don't need to see it again, I know! Stop showing me this!" 

The voice paused, considered. Then darkness grabbed hold of your ankles and dragged you down.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You were born once, from the first time when you visited the relatives of your dads. Grandma kissed, cousins waved, and aunts and uncles hugged. 

Your dads laughed as you squirmed away and dashed off to play with the other children.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Everything comes at a cost. You know what it feels like to be taken apart. You know what it feels like to become unmade."

"Why are you here?"

"Why now?"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You hit the ground, this time in soft green grass. It was early dawn, the sky opening a purplish-blue as the pale sun peeked over the horizon.

You turned to look at the house, and in the shadows of the porch, you could see your dads' lean in for a long kiss as they basked in the quiet.

You let your head tilt back for a moment, breathing.

This wasn't real. You were either falling, or fallen. You weren't in heaven, or hell, but a space in between. When you hit the ground (had they hit the ground?) you wouldn't land in a warm afterlife. These worlds God kept throwing you into were just painful memories that only solidified your reason for death.

Footsteps rustled through the grass behind you but you didn't move — just breathed in the sweet smell of wind and closed your eyes.

"Hey, kiddo," your dad said, sitting down beside you. Your other dad sat opposite of you.

Your throat suddenly clenched, burned. Your eyes stung. "Hey, dads'," You croaked. "I — hey."

"So ... what happened?" He asked after a beat of silence. You suddenly remembered his laughs, the way it would sneak past your bedroom door as you laid with closed eyes and bruised ribs, wondering if it would get better, wondering if you were ever going to be as happy as your parents.

"I couldn't do it anymore, dad," you choked. "I — I'm sorry. At school I could barely hide the bruises from you, and the neighbor — she just wouldn't stop, and I couldn't tell you because you were so happy. And I messed up your lives from coming home drunk and taking pills and doing cigarettes and —" I couldn't do it anymore. 

Your other dad looked at you sadly, an old look that you knew well. It was one of sorrow, of exhaustion and pain that weighed him deep in his bones as he looked at you when you came stumbling home after a night of shame.

"Why didn't you tell us?" He asked. "We could have talked about it ... given you therapy, meds. We could have talked to the teachers, and the parents of the kids, and had that neighbor arrested. We — we blame ourselves."

Your eyes blurred and you blinked rapidly as your dad's face swam into view. His broken look, his tearstained lashes, his red eyes. Grief was written on both your fathers' faces as he placed a hand on your shoulder.

Suddenly, your father's face shifted. "Everything comes at a cost," he said. "But you already knew that, didn't you?"

His palm suddenly felt heavy on your shoulder as you whipped around to look at your other dad.

"A life," your other dad rasped.

"No," you jerked back away from your dads', suddenly angry. "No. You don't get to use them. You don't ever get to use them. Don't ever touch them."

Your fathers' faces twisted into confusion, frustration. "I — I am trying. To ask. Why are you here?" 

"I just told you — told them. I couldn't do it anymore."

"Why now?"

You didn't have an answer.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The rain pours on the rooftop, dripping down the buildings as it washes into the sewers. They are coming apart at the seams, the stitches have been tearing for years. They know what it feels like to be taken apart. They know what it feels like to become unmade. 

You hit the ground, and the stinging alcohol sliding down your throat as buzzing lights danced under your closed eyelids. You wanted to forget, you wanted to be ok, you wanted — your locked eyes with a stranger across the room. You smiled.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You hit the ground, and you took the first drag of smoke, ash staining your mouth as you used one stick, then another, then another, until the whole pack was finished in a day. You wanted to die.

You hit — you swallowed pill after pill like it was candy behind your locked door, and when the capsule was empty you curled under the covers and waited as a sickening weight built up in your chest —

You hit the ground, and you slammed against the banquet table, gasping as vertigo made your head spin. Your limbs felt cold as the lead in your chest built up —

"You have done terrible things to yourself. You can never repent."

"They did this to me, they did it first," you gasped. You were drowning as your lungs filled with water. Images in their brain filled up — good times and bad.

Early in the morning, you sat with your dads as you watched the sunrise. Later that day, you were slammed into the playground tree for being better than their peers. Later in life, you popped your first pill, lit your first smoke, drank your first shot.

Your grandma gave you kisses on cheeks, your cousins still waved, aunts and uncles still hugged you. Your neighbor slid her hands along your body just like that stranger did. Sunday mornings with orange juice and pancakes and cartoons were replaced with hangovers as you stared at the top of a building and pretended to see the curve of the horizon.

"They hurt me first."

"They don't cancel each other out. Souls are never scrubbed clean, but can be overgrown."

"What are you trying to say?" You spat. "That I should've lived? That I should've dealt with it? It's too late, it was too late, it has been too late! I wanted to die, so I killed myself. I don't regret it, I'm just sorry for my parents." You clenched your fists. All you could feel is the cold in the warmly-lit room.

"You want time," said the voice. "You want to see your parents again."

"Of course I want to see my parents again." You said. "I love them. But —"

Instead of falling, images rose above you like smoke.

Your dads' pulled each other in for a kiss, murmuring about how much they loved each other. Your dads' woke you up at the crack of dawn to watch the sun rising for the first time, and it was one of the most favorite memories they had. Your dads' tossed you up, and you soared, before gravity quickly took over and your dads' caught you in their arms. Your dads' introduced you to grandma, to cousins and aunts and uncles. Sunday light crept through the windows and you toasted your orange juice to your dads' coffee.

"You will never get them back," said the voice. "But isn't that what you want? I will show you time." 

Your dads' pulled each other in for a kiss, murmuring about how much they loved each other in the early dawn.

Your dads' fell to your knees in grief and shock and horror, sobbing as men painted in red and blue lights wordlessly spoke of a suicide. Early sunrises were replaced with broken twilights as your dads found the pills, the bottles and the words on pages.

A man opened the news one day and recognized a classmate who killed themself. Horrified guilt made him weep tears of shame as he remembered how he slammed them into a tree for being better than him.

A neighborhood woman opened her door and was met with charges piled higher than her taxes as the police handcuffed her and dragged her to jail after years of freedom.

Your dads' walked up to a woman, a broken look in their eyes as they exchanged words and handed her a picture. The woman covered her mouth, stared at it blankly. You can only assume that this is the birth mother who was never a part of your life. Funny, you didn't even look like her. You must get you looks from your birth father.

Decades later, you watched as your dads' forgave themselves a little as they placed a white rose next to a wilted black one.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The rain washes the world clean. The showering pellets will wash the blood clean, pooling it into the gutters from when they jump. 

"Everything comes at a cost." Said the voice, but this time it sounded kind. "You know what it feels like to be taken apart. You know what it feels like to become unmade."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"What does this matter?" You said dully. "This isn't real. I'm already dead. I'm falling, or fallen. I'm not in heaven, or hell. I'm in something in-between."

"Do you want to die?" 

"Yes," You said. "But if I lived a different life, then no."

The voice paused, considered.

"I didn't want any of those shitty things to happen to me. I didn't want to get bullied, or touched, or hurt, or drugged, or anything. But what the hell does that matter? I'm already falling, or fallen. I'm already dead, or dying. I didn't want any of those shitty things to happen to me, but they did."

"It matters," whispers the voice. "That's what makes this a sacrifice." 

"I'm angry," you whispered. "No one should go through what I did. No one should feel what I felt. My parents —" you trembled.

"Be angry," said the voice. "I am."

That gives you more comfort than you thought it would. Your eyes stung with fury and hurt and sadness as your throat grew tight and your hands started shaking. "I didn't want to die," your voice broke. "I don't want to die. I just —" you sobbed, an ugly sound. "I just wanted it to stop."

The voice pauses, considering.

You don't fall, and the images don't rise, but suddenly your whole world went dark and you woke up in soft green grass as the early dawn opened the sky a purplish-blue as the pale sun peeked over the horizon.

You let your head tilt back for a moment, breathing, tears drying.

This wasn't real. You were either falling, or fallen. You weren't in heaven, or hell, but a space in between. When you hit the ground (had you hit the ground?) you knew what it would cost.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The sky opened up as you dangled your feet over the roof of a building, rain pouring in sheets as it soaked your clothes. The rain pours on the rooftop, dripping down the buildings as it washes into the sewers. You are coming apart at the seams, the stitches have been tearing for years. You know what it feels like to be taken apart. You know what it feels like to become unmade. The rain washes the world clean. The showering pellets will wash the blood clean, pooling it into the gutters from when you jump. You gazed along the length of the building you had chosen, heart heavy as you hope that your dads' love you enough to forgive you.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

E=cise Runa tuy uk ya?

(Would you take Luna into your home?)

Bot boy back again (now in college :D) with another idea from my brain

Idea 7: Gregory did not have abusive parents

A lot of fanfics I've read about the 3 star ending all seem to have one thing in common, Gregory having at least one bad parent. Most have Gregory's father being terrible or just having left the family. Some of them have both mother and father be horribly abusive.

I had a different idea, what if instead of abusive parents Gregory had the opposite, 2 parents who loved him more than anything else. 

That does leave us with a troublesome question, if that's the case, then why does Gregory evidently live in a box?

Let us create a timeline of possible events:

Gregory is born

At around age 2 or something, Gregory's father is now out of the picture. This isn't because he abandons his family, no. 

It is because he dies…

It is quick, unexpected, and there is no warning. The reason can be whatever you want. (The more tragic the better)

So now Gregory's mother (M from here on out) now has to singlehandedly take care of toddler Gregory.

She does an amazing job! Her normal profession as a therapist (wink) helps her a lot in making sure Gregory behaves. 

It also helps M explain to him where his father is, and helps him grasp the dark concept of death at an early age.

M also makes certain that Gregory just how much his father loved him, even if can't remember him. She makes sure to let him know he is loved by her everyday.

M also teaches him some basic housekeeping tasks, so that Gregory can take care of himself when she has late nights at work.

Then one day at work, when Gregory is around 9, M gets a new patient at work. Some blonde beta tester, the only thing of note is her inconsistent childhood memories and the fact her 4 previous therapists have gone missing. 

A bit weird and slightly concerning, but what is the worst that can happen?

… I think we all know what happened next

Gregory wouldn't suspect anything was wrong, thinking his mom is just having another late night at work.

Then some people show up, they say that his mother has *ahem* "gone missing" and that they have to take him to an orphanage for the time being.

Gregory immediately knows that his mother is dead, he can hear it when they stutter just before saying "gone missing". Ironically his mother did the same thing when she first explained where his father went.

Before he gets a chance to properly grieve, Gregory is in an orphanage with about a dozen other children. This is because he doesn't have any relatives 

Most of the caretakers there seem apathetic. Some care a bit more, but it is leagues away from how much his mother cares-... cared for him.

One of the caretakers seems to actively hurt him whenever they can. They hate kids, (Like Vanessa in the game, but without the valid excuse of being possessed by a British furry) and seemingly only took the job either as a way to get some easy money or as a chance to hurt kids.

When Gregory finally gets a chance to cry over his mother's death, that "caretaker" is there yelling at him to "stop whining and get over it"

This is too much for him so he decides to run away. He finds living in a box in an alley to be difficult, but at least no one can hurt him now.

Then the games events happen

I think that this idea could work, the sudden shift between having a loving home and then being thrown into a harsher environment would make Gregory be distrustful of adult strangers.

After everything though, things would get better. Gregory gets the father figure he never really had in the form of a robot bear (wow this series has gotten weird) and a loving…mother? Sister? Aunt figure? in Vanessa.

            Also if you're wondering how Gregory would react to learning who killed his mother, I think he would understand that it was Vanny’s doing, not Vanessa's and be quick to reassure her that he doesn't blame her. Vanessa would likely hate herself just that little bit more, knowing that it was her (noitwasvannys) who orphaned a child. 

I hope you enjoyed another rambling courtesy of me, bot boy!

Oh hope you're having fun in college!

But huh, interesting idea! I had a vague idea what I wanted to do with my Gregory's past, I even mentioned it in roleplays on the gregaverse server

Though I never was really satisfied with it, and now this my friend, if you allow I'd like to take into my greedy little hands ( つ ◕w◕ )つ

Of course, with some changes here and there to fit my au better haha I won't say what those changes are in case I ever get to actually make the comic or write it as fanfiction

But yes, I've thoroughly enjoyed your rambles XD have been helping me a lot as well cuz I've been absolutely clueless with what I want to do with Vanessa lol

i've been asking for years and it still hasn't happened. When does our time come for that found family trope???

can a middle aged butch lesbian just adopt me already

Overheard at the BAU

Penelope, talking to Emily: "So, do you think you'd want to adopt a dog?"

Emily: "Oh idk, we've got Sergio and we're constantly on cases so I'm not sure it's a good idea"

JJ, standing behind her wife with pleading eyes, a puppy in her arms: "..."

Penelope: "You might wanna budge on that"

I'm going to adopt a cat in the nearest week, I'm so excited and don't know what to name him

I think I might name him Dino ^^

DEWCYRGECGEFWVCFEWCHUFECFECHUBRFCBHUCFEUHBCRUFHCBUHFRCBRFHI BHRF HJBRFVBHUVFRGJBFRVHJBRFGJVBBHJRFFJHBC *GOES FERAL*

YIPPEEEEEEEEE

HAHAHAHA THE WAY YOU FLIRTED AND THREE SECONDS LATER POMNI WAS LIKE “I girlfailed” HAHAHA I JUST SAW THIS IN REAL TIME-

-ADHD

“ ahahaha! yes, i'm very proud of myself. ”

Please anyone in the area adopt this sweet dog!!! Emergency

The Bear is sick.

cover doesn't belong to me.

Rating:

General Audiences

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

Gen

Fandoms:

Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga

Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types

Relationship:

Edward Elric & Roy Mustang

Characters:

Edward Elric

Roy Mustang

Mrs. Hanna

Additional Tags:

Parental Roy Mustang

soft Roy Mustang

caring Roy mustang

Roy Mustang loves children

Foster Parent Roy Mustang

Foster Care

Edward Elric is a child here

Edward Elric needs love

Hurt Edward Elric

Sick Edward Elric

Sickfic

Bedtime Stories

Chicken Soup

Head pats

I think there was a kiss too? Don't remember

Been while since I wrote this haha

Asshole CPS worker

hinted Royai

yesss

also

This was like written in February

And it’s so tiny

But enjoy tiny stuff and love them

Just like you love Eddie Elric

Who speaks like a person who doesn't know English the poor baby

He came from an abusive home

Aka HO WAS AN ABUSIVE MAN

ha

Also the story they read is a childhood book that my mama read to me when I was a just a tiny girl

Fluffy with tiny Angst

Happy Ending

Summary:

“ Da bear... sick.” “ huh?” “ Da... Beaher Ss sick.” “Okay, chum! get comfortable.” Roy fixed his position to be closer to Ed and took a hold of the big book, “ The Bear is Sick.” he read the title before he opened the first page. Or! Roy Mustang decided one morning to be a foster parent, and tonight he is taking care of his five year old sick foster child.

Hi guys! 💖

Posting this here to give a little shoutout to my stories haha. My story, The Bear Is Sick is heavily inspired by the storybook “ the bear feels sick.” ( or The Bear Is Ill in some Countries)

Growing up, my Mama used to read me and my siblings story books, and this book was one of them, and since I could remember, I was always mesmerized by its wonderful water coloring like illustrates, and it’s sweet story.

Around October last year I was cleaning our library when I found this book and got inspired, I doodled few drawing and in February I wrote little Edward owning the book.

This silly cute draft was sitting in my noted app, till the end of June, where I finished it up and posted it on the first of July!

My story is short, being less than 3k words, but it is one of the most loved ones that I have posted this year! In my fic, I kinda of scratched the surface of the situation that, unfortunately, a lot of kids and teens will go through. I am not a fostered child and never experienced it, I have built it based on my researched facts and the stuff my online friend told me about her experience.

Remember, if you can help those teens and kids, please do! Donations ( money, clothes, bags, food, whatever you can!) can make a human’s life better. If you can't give them something physically then give them a prayer and if you weren't a believer then just send them some good thoughts.

( um, if you can leave a comment? 👀 because, like, we All have a very hard life and I kinda want something to make me smile? 🫣 i swear I am not this petty usually but oh well)

See ya at Ao3, peeps 🫡❤️💖

thank you for your help

🙏🙏💝💖

Hi, I hope someone can help us spread the campaign and help create posts on their blog, which would be helpful for us. We need that. Thank you all. The campaign is going very slowly. For my children they mean very difficult and desperate situations

@neptunerings @khanger @schoolhater @politijohn @loonarmuunar @kordeliiius @acepumpkinpatrick @malcriada @appsa @komsomolka @apollos-olives @feluka @magnus-rhymes-with-swagness @jezior0 @plomegranate @tododeku-or-bust @turtletoria @jeweled-traveler @isitcasualnow

@timogsilangan @buttercuparry @qattdraws @blackpearlblast @a-shade-of-blue @apol @dlxxv-vetted-donations @malcriaada @orblr

A thing to keep in mind both with the abortion debate, and the US border crisis: Rich white Christian families desperately want to increase the supply of adoptable children that don’t have connections to their birth families.

Since the 1960s, the number of babies available for adoption has steadily declined. The model many people prize as “ideal” is to adopt an infant as early as possible, so that it remembers no other parents, has no connections to any other culture or religious heritage, and can be raised, as much as possible, as though the child were a couple’s own biological child.

This has been an unspoken factor in a lot of conservative political decisions that don’t make sense on the surface, like restricting birth control and abortion while making raising a child as difficult and expensive as possible, or separating parents from children without even keeping track of which child belongs to which family.

You can see this agenda working in a lot of responses to “crises”, like the Sixties Scoop of Indigenous, Aboriginal, and Native American children, Operation Babylift in Vietnam in 1975, or people swarming Haiti in 2010 looking for orphans.

In all these cases, the “solution” to the “crisis” is to “save” children from unhappy lives in terrible conditions by giving them to, primarily, rich white Christian families, to be raised as conservative middle-class Christians. 

It looks altruistic, but don’t assume it actually is; so long as a child has living family members, it’s often better for them to be with their families in a refugee camp in a warzone than to be separated, no matter how nice their new homes and new families are. (And the adoption industry has scrupulously avoided, whenever possible, gathering evidence on what it’s like to give up a child for adoption, much less having your children taken from you.)

That’s one of the things I’m actually really surprised and amazed hasn’t been pushed as a solution more often; it used to be such a huge narrative in the past, but the more we know about childhood trauma, the more resistance there is to  babyscoop tactics. 

But if this is a fight you’re in on? Watch for this. 

Took me a while but :o i've finally decided to adopt a horror! :D

*You are welcomed warmly to the bitty place by Zalman, Dotchi off helping set up other parts of the house with Coffee and others willing to help*

Zalman: Yesssssss, We have been expecting you… 

*The Chain raps his knuckles on the desk he was lounging on and a small snort is heard underneath, before a skeleton hand grabs on the side, followed by another as the Horror Bitty pulls himself up with his axe plushie in his teeth as automatically something seems… off about him. 

You almost immediately notice after the fact that the fur of his jacket collar and the hem at the bottom is covered in silver glitter as he looks to you, placing the axe plushie on his shoulder, his sockets half-lidded as he gave a big grin to you* 

Horror Bitty: heya. i gliterally can’t tell you how much ‘ve been hearin’ about you and your Corny Glitter, and all that food ya just don’t happen ta eat, so I thought I would just glam up and wear somethin’ so you would help ya take a shine ta me. 

*He winks his dark socket as he uses the limited magic supply to yank over the adoption papers from near Zalman to you with the pen on top. As you take it he makes his way over and starts climbing up your sleeve, making it all the way to your shoulder and making himself comfortable as you sign the adoption papers to take home the very excited Horror*

A 5’3 human walks in shyly with her full sized Hot Kiss at her side and a spotted pride on her shoulder. “Hello, I got a matchup and was wondering if, maybe, I could adopt a Teeth and Horror pair? I wouldn’t want to separate siblings! And maybe, Fire adopted a Nightmare a while back. If his brother is around, maybe he wants to come with us too? We live next door to her.” (Rp if you’re up to it? If by that’s fine too.)

(All for RPing Fire! :3 ) 

*The Shop was just coming down from a warm Valentine’s day, Toriels and Murders unsticking the hearts and taking down the streamers as the sweet smell of sugar was still in the air, some Empresses ordering around others to tidy up the shop as bitties were scattered every which way doing their own thing, perking up when the doors opened and to the curious new person, welcoming her, her Hot Kiss and Spotted Pride as she was waved over by the Heartsona Dotchi* 

Dotchi: Welcome Welcome! We can facilitate getting a Nightmare and Dream for you, as well as Morpheus’ brother, How has fire been doing, her bitties doing well? And who are these handsome fellows?

*She asked as she seemed to be looking to the bitties the Human had with her warmly*

I would like to hire one of all three types, perhaps ones that know and trust eachother, if possible.

Toriel: We can arrange that for you, but we do need clarification in which one you would like first, considering these asks you had sent before:

1/2 Ok, so I'm running a rescue center. And I have two Sans types. One I would have to keep an eye on so he doesn't hurt Brown and any other bitty I get because he's a manipulative little shit. ANYWAY, I was wondering if there were any bitties you recommend for a rescue center, be it healing them, caring for the babybones in the nursery, getting injured bitties out of hard-to-reach places, or getting scared bitties to calm down. 

2/2 I'll have to adopt one at a time though because a bunch of bitties at once is asking for someone to die. Thorn's not exactly... friendly.

We would really like to keep everyone from danger, so we would like your instructions as to how you would like this handled, who you would like sent first, how long you would like to wait until the other bitties follow and the like!

Thank you for the match up! It means alot! I would like either a horror or nightmare bitty (maybe both? Its up to you) in a scenario please!

Of course! Thank you much for the ask! (Please let me know if this Scenario doesn’t work for you, it’s been a while!)

*You enter the bitty shop with a cautious step. 

You were anxious about entering the bitty shop, having let them know ahead of time that you were going to head over for either a Horror or Nightmare Bitty, maybe even both if you could help it! 

With hands in your pockets you enter the shop, looking around as the desk seems to be abandoned at the moment. 

You go to the desk as you look around before the sound of laughter catches your attention. It’s smug and just full of humor as it lures you into the Nightmare and Dream Room. The dimmed room scattered with stars and many bitties seems to give way as your eyes land upon the Movie Closet the Nightmares were taking up space in with others whom had similar humor. 

You poke your head in and see them laughing uproariously at the projected screen as a horror movie was playing, it being after the deaths of one of the characters as dark jokes are slung left and right. 

You couldn’t help but find a grin make it’s way onto your face as some of them were really bad, finding yourself being drawn into watching as you sat by the door and watched with them, no eyes on you to trigger discomfort, everyone was just enjoying the movie and soon you were too. 

You feel a tap to your hand and look down to see a Horror sitting beside a Nightmare as he grins to you, one hand on his axe plushie as the gooey bitty beside him is nomming on some snacks, briefly glimpsing up to show his interest* 

Horror: Hey pal, I gotta axe you a question, hungry? 

*He asked as he offered up a few snacks that were definitely not your size, but was a very touching offer nonetheless as you picked a small version of one of your favorites. 

After the movie was done and you had said your goodbyes to everyone, you walked out of the door with a bitty on each shoulder, the Horror and the Nightmare as they chattered and joked with you about the realistic gore effects and nail-biting conclusion, content to go home with you*