#Happy Adoption Day

[we-r-loonies]

happy mother's day to the best mum to ever walk the planet, euphemia potter

[son1c]

sonic, put that thing down. you don't know where it's been!!!

[oddberryshortcake]

On this day, a prince woke up after 400 years of being asleep and was adopted by a fae who blessed him with moonlight silver hair

[soranatus]

Doomed planet Desperate scientists Last hope Kindly couple

February 29th - A young Kal-El arrives on Earth and is found by the Kents, who adopt him and name him Clark

Happy birthday to Clark Kent, our strange visitor from another planet!

[zsbrainrot]

More Clothing Practice ft. Kazurei ❤️💙

Happy Buddy Daddies Friday!

[that-one-egomaniac]

Happy V-day y’all 👐 *throws strawberries at you*

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 161

Bruce does not like magic. He doesn’t enjoy it at all. Which might be from the fact that it was due to magic that he was in this situation. It wasn’t like he exactly wanted it known, even if he knows Alfred is laughing at him back home. 

The Cult is just terrified of the fact attempting to summon a representative of the Realms ended up with them summoning fucking Batman. 

[funbearer]

[itty-bitty-sunshine]

"You would be calling me a fool for the way i've been neglecting all else and myself for the sake of love. But alas, your child has always been a jester, mother.

Don't turn in your grave too much."

Close up on mother and child under cut

[hoofpeet]

Since you mentioned how Zingo came from a "puppy mill" operation with an unlicensed breeder, I started imagining Emmet, being an actual qualified breeder (with his joltiks, he needed that license) finally finding out where Zingo came from after listening to her talk about it. He wouldn't be happy in the slightest. Maybe sends in an anonymous tip to the police or whatever is equal to the highest breeders organization in Unova to have the other Zoroas and Zoroarks taken and put in actual good homes, and that 'breeder' locked up. It might have only one positive (that is, he got Zingo), but everyone else is still verrry bad.

YEAH. Emmet takes himself verrrrry seriously as a respectable breeder and can't abide by shitty breeders. People who neglect their pets get dealt with accordingly <3

[whumpypepsigal]

watched the little mermaid last night and it’s everything i imagined it to be and more. im cheesing smiling kicking my feet up beaming with joy. halle is ARIEL and jonah is PRINCE ERIC aassddffgghgkllllll what a perfect cast. HALLE’s VOICE IS PERFECTION. eric’s love-gaze-pinning eyes got me weak af. my man was in LOVE LOVE with ariel. CHEMISTRY WAS CHEMISTRY-ING. and grimsby was me tbh… he made it his full mission to get eric and ariel together and i love him for that.

look at them! just two beautiful nerds in love. yeah, im going back to the cinema tonight to watch it again idc if i just get three hours of sleep it will be time well-spent 😭🧡

[longliveblackness]

While raising her children in Harlem, Hale developed a deep sympathy for abandoned and neglected children. In the 1940s, she began providing short-term and long-term care for community children in her home. She also found permanent homes for homeless children and taught parents essential parenting skills. In 1960, she became a licensed foster parent, providing care for hundreds of children in her home. Hale's success as a foster parent earned her the affectionate nickname of "Mother Hale."

In 1969, at the age of 64, Hale became the foster parent of an infant addicted to cocaine. She responded to needs of other children with this affliction by founding a groundbreaking foster care program in Harlem, Hale House. The respite care program also provided training to drug-addicted mothers on how to improve the health of their chemically dependent babies. Hale's unique program required mothers to live in Hale House with their children and attend a drug rehabilitation program. In the 1980s, Hale expanded Hale House services to include care for infants stricken with HIV and those who had lost parents to AIDS.

By 1991, Hale House cared for approximately 1,000 infants and toddlers. During her distinguished career, Hale received numerous honors and awards for her community service. She received an honorary doctorate from John Jay College of Criminal Justice and public service awards from the National Mother's Day Committee and the Truman Award for Public Service. In 1985, during his State of the Union Address, President Ronald Reagan referred to Hale as an "American hero" for her commitment to at-risk children.

Clara McBride Hale died on December 18, 1992 in New York City at the age of 87.

•••

Mientras criaba a sus hijos en Harlem, Hale desarrolló una profunda simpatía por los niños abandonados y descuidados. En la década de 1940, comenzó a brindar cuidados a corto y largo plazo a los niños de la comunidad. También encontró hogares permanentes para niños sin hogar y enseñó a los padres habilidades esenciales para la crianza de los hijos. En 1960, se convirtió en madre adoptiva autorizada y cuidó a cientos de niños en su hogar. El éxito de Hale como madre adoptiva hizo que se ganara el cariñoso apodo de "Madre Hale".

En 1969, a la edad de 64 años, Hale se convirtió en madre adoptiva de un niño adicto a la cocaína. Ella respondió a las necesidades de otros niños con este padecimiento y fundó un innovador programa de cuidados y crianza en Harlem, llamado Hale House. El programa de cuidados también proporcionó capacitación a madres drogadictas sobre cómo mejorar la salud de sus bebés químicamente dependientes. El programa único de Hale requería que las madres vivieran en Hale House con sus hijos y asistieran a un programa de rehabilitación de drogas. En la década de 1980, Hale amplió los servicios de Hale House para incluir la atención a bebés afectados por el VIH y a aquellos que habían perdido a sus padres a causa del SIDA.

En 1991, Hale House atendía a aproximadamente 1,000 bebés y niños pequeños. Durante su distinguida carrera, Hale recibió numerosos honores y premios por su servicio comunitario. Recibió un doctorado honorario por parte de John Jay College of Criminal Justice y premios de servicio público del Comité Nacional del Día de la Madre y el Premio Truman al Servicio Público. En 1985, durante su discurso sobre el estado de la Unión, el presidente Ronald Reagan se refirió a Hale como una "héroe estadounidense" por su compromiso con los niños en situación de riesgo.

Clara McBride Hale murió el 18 de diciembre de 1992 en la ciudad de Nueva York, a la edad de 87 años.

[garbagequeer]

every time riverdale had to come up with the worst thing that could happen to betty our beloved serial killer genes dragged by the ankles to get a lobotomy betty they were like. the nuclear family. that's what would really break her. for 6 years they did this. thank you riverdale i love you forever

[funbearer]

[aurorasilverthorne]

Happy Valentines Day!!! 🏳️‍🌈

[pursuitseternal]

“Take My Milk for Gall:” an upcoming WIP from PursuitsEternal 🔥 UA Astarion x Fem!OC

UA Spawn Astarion x Delilah | Explicit | TBD

Summary: “I’ve taken a turn as a hero and adventurer” Astarion may not have found the slavers he’s contracted to hunt this time, but he has found one fiercely determined and mysterious female. Her tenacity is only outmatched by her secrets. But she might be just what he needs, for this quest and for more reasons than that alone.

CW: Tired, jaded hero Spawn, no Tav assumed, fem!OC is new mother, stretch marks, blood, and breast milk included, tragic past hopeful future, found family, future adoptive Dadstarion…

Tease below the cut…

Against her obviously better judgment, she tried to strike up a conversation a few times, but a terse response and a glare was enough to quiet her meager attempts. Perhaps it was the reflection of his own past, his own scars and abuse and self-loathing that made him avoid looking at her much. It wasn’t until he could hear actual tears in her voice that he stopped to listen to her pleas.

“I hear water ahead, a river. Once it’s dawn, could we stop please, I need to bathe and rest…” She looked exhausted, tired, and now pathetic.

But it did pique his conscience enough to reply. “We do need to make camp before sunrise, same as our quarry, and I do think we’ve gained on them.” He nodded to an outcrop of rocks in the hills, “I’ll make camp in this cover. Head east. The river isn’t far.” He could almost feel her relief in her bones as he directed her to find the rest she had been whining for.

Decades of repetition, some with companions, some all alone, his body made camp without a single thought about it: fire made, bedroll laid out, weapons cleaned and sharpened, tent pitched in the darkest parts of the rocky crag to keep the sun off his flesh. Supper would be dry fare for her, just some things he had scrounged from the village stores that weren’t tainted with soot. As for him, he sniffed the air looking for something warm and soon-to-be-prey, when another scent caught his nose.

Fresh blood. Female blood. The kind that came monthly, the kind he hadn’t been so exposed to since his days on the road to fight the Absolute. Yet, there was something off. “Delilah?” he called, heading towards the riverbank. He pushed through massive ferns, that scent growing stronger, now edged with something sweeter, something he had never scented before. Hurrying, his arms brushed back the thick leaves, calling her name one more time.

Her body stood in the waters, the tops of her thighs still above the surface. Dark brown and red stains covered the insides of her legs, a sight he knew. Old blood and fresh dripped down. The curves of her hips, the crest of her belly was covered in stretch lines, her skin slightly loose but no less supple. Voluptuous even. Slowly she rounded to face him, her figure in the moonlight bright against the rippling water. Her breasts, two full mounds glistening with droplets of water, achingly full, nipples hard and ripened pink. It made his mouth water against his better judgment. Her hands worked at her breast, and there was that other sweeter, strange scent.

A cup in one fist, thick streams of milk spurted into it. His eyes went wide, the shock of seeing something foreign, intimate, and… confusing. Her dark eyes sparked, almost like two nebulous voids as she locked into his gaze, but even that mysterious darkness couldn’t mask her determination.

It was a clear picture, a young mother, recent from labour and absent a babe. A long inhale is what he took as he drew towards the river’s edge. “Where’s your child?” he asked, bile and gall rising in his throat to think of the possibilities.

“She’s safe with a friend, another whore who got too ripe for business,” came the casual reply, her hand tossed the full cup of milk into the water around her naked body. Then her hands began to work the other breast. The sound of expressing milk rang against the side of the little metal cup. “I know my lass is fed and safe, but little good it does me on the road. Gotta keep myself relieved or I fear I’ll burst,” she smiled, but grin and laugh both rippled with the dark reality of their circumstances.

Astarion turned his back, apologizing. “I’m sorry… I…”

“Well, now, my hero knows why I am so desperate for my brother, and why I despair so at my… misfortune. I was to bring my babe once I had settled a bit with my brother. But with Cainan enslaved, I have no one. I have nothing.” She tossed the cup of milk into the running water again. “I don’t even have a babe to give this milk to feed,” she couldn’t hide the sigh in her throat. “What a waste.”

That tone, that despite and spite… It was too familiar, too haunting. “We won’t let it be a waste. We won’t let those slavers win,” his voice growled, an edge of ice that hadn’t lined it since Cazador’s death by his hand. “You’ll get your freedom for you and your child,” he added. And whether or not he meant it to be a vow, something settled with determination in his heart.