#supermoms

[highlordofkrypton]

martha kent, alfred pennyworth, atlanna & hippolyta au // the justice league's mom's book club's guide to vampire slaying - chapter 9

READ ON AO3.

SUMMARY: Martha, Alfred, Atlanna and Hippolyta start a book club. Together, they remember what it feels like to be themselves and not just the parents of the Justice League. Well, for most of them at least. Throw in some vampires and now we have a party.

chapter 9 - excessive force

The shots are a clean sign for Martha to haul ass. Adrenaline keeps the pain at bay, her knees protesting the very thought of crawling through this horrible, cramped metal tunnel. Martha stops, shielding her ears from the piercing screech. Is it dead?

A thud echoes all around her. Then again. It’s not looking for a way in anymore, it’s found one. Straight through. It’s not dead. It’s determined.

Go, is the only thought she focuses on.

Martha cannot panic, and she cannot scream, for neither are productive for her goal, which is to make it to the other side of this stupid escape route. When all this is over, she is going to have a word with Alfred. Has he considered a slide? That would be a hundred times more effective and more fun.

Her crawl is an exercise in hope—

Hope that the creature chasing her doesn’t catch up to her.

Hope that she’ll make it out alive, so that her son isn’t an orphan once more.

Her hand slips, and the rest of her follows. Martha’s heart lurches into her chest, falling into darkness.

***

Atlanna beheads her enemy with a fork. Several, actually. A second creature had skittered in after the Speaking One. She trusts Hippolyta to dispatch her assailant.

“You enter my friend’s home,” she snarls, impaling the barely-human creature in one shoulder. “You caused damage on her property.” Another fork in the opposing shoulder. “And you have ruined our dinner!”

It takes patience and determination to saw through flesh, muscle, tendon and bone with a fork. Admittedly, she has gotten ahead of herself, it has been a long time since she last fought anyone. The last time she executed someone—

Ah, best not to think of those things.

“Ly—”

Atlanna tips her head up, and her gaze is obscured by the sight of her friend hurtling towards her.

“What is going on?” She snaps, a tangle of limbs with Hippolyta.

“A fury between old things.” The Queen of the Amazon wipes the blood trickling from her nose, and snaps her wrist to let the crimson splatter across the wooden floorboards. Hippolyta wields her kitchen knives like daggers; she does not lament the absence of her usual weaponry. She is the weapon.

The Tall Man—the Creature who Speaks—is unlike the others. He is, clearly, their leader. He approaches them, baring his forest of fangs and hisses at them.

“Our dance is not over,” Hippolyta hums.

“Oh, I sure think it is.” Martha cocks her gun and fires. She repeats the gesture with a firm and swift click, aiming at the head of that damned creature. Her enemy raises his hand to cover his face, but Martha does not stop. One, two, three, up to eight shots are fired at it in sequence. The rounds chew through its flesh, filling the room with the scent of rot.

The thing moves towards Martha. One step is a step too much. Hippolyta moves swiftly, pushing off of Atlanna, who grunts with annoyance, to shove the monster back. She parries claws with her blades, though she can feel their flimsyness the more she attacks. No matter. So long as she breathes, and there are objects within her reach, she will find a way to use it to her advantage.

“I’m almost done re-loading!”

“Understood.” Hippolyta’s words are filtered through grit teeth as she continues to struggle against the strength of far from human.

Atlanna hears the thump of movement from outside, carried through the ground in dull muted sounds. The surface could struggles to replicate the echoes of the sea, and the way the water hears everything, but she has taught herself to listen. She feels it beneath the palms of her hands.

“We have more incoming and we are not,” she gets to her feet to stand at the door. “Equipped to deal with this.” The natural state of her senses are adapted to the dark depths of the ocean, and so she sees her assailants clearly. “Where is Alfred?” She demands; he must do the lockdown thing he did with the barn.

“He is a man, and men are—” Hippolyta roars and flips the leader of monsters onto the kitchen island. It breaks into pieces, pots and pans clattering to the ground. “Cowards.”

The lights flick on, blinding Atlanna and Martha, but Hippolyta remains steadfast. The corpse begins to sizzle, and the Man With Fangs puts space between them. “We are not done.” He flickers out of sight, and vanishes. He takes the body with it.

“What was that?” Martha asks, lowering her hand that shielded her form the light.

“He escaped.” Both regents echo at the same time.

“I fixed the lights,” Alfred appears, dusting himself off from broken shards of glass.

“You cowardly—,” Hippolyta grips her knife storming towards Alfred in fury.

He raises his hand to stop her, and that, naturally, seems to anger her. “May I invite you to lambast me somewhere safer? There is a safehouse in the basement. We can discuss tonight’s events in detail. I cannot guarantee that the generator will last. The repairs were… rudimentary.” There’s only so much he can do with the time and the tools at his disposal.

“Come on.” Atlanna urges Hippolyta along, nudging her knives out of Alfred’s face. “Downstairs, yes?”

“Wait, Martha, what about the one that was following you?”

“I closed the door, but I don’t know if it held. Painting the button in glow-in-the-dark paint was a good idea.”

“You can thank the boys for that one."

“Also,” Martha slides up next to her old friend. “I am never doing that again. Couldn’t you have built a slide?”

Alfred’s gray brows raise to his hairline. “Jason actually suggested that. Perhaps I should have convinced Bruce to listen.”

The four of them descend the creaky wooden steps into Martha’s cold room. Jars of preserves, along with other pickled things line the walls. She keeps a secondary fridge and freezer here, but she hasn’t needed either of them since Clark moved out. They’re only here for the weekends when he visits (with or without his friends).

“Through the freezer,” Martha and Alfred say at nearly the same time. She smiles at him, despite it all. They’re safe and sound. That’s what matters.

While Martha had to crawl out of that damned thing in the dark, with only glow-in-the-dark arrows to guide her way out, the freezer lights up properly. The back of the freezer opens up into a different room—the safehouse that Alfred was talking about. They can just barely see the inside of it.

Hippolyta raises her hand in a halting gesture, demanding silence.

They listen.

Aside from the hum of electricity, there is nothing else coming from the safe house. From outside, Martha swears she can still hear those things creeping around in the corn stalks.

Hippolyta hauls herself over the edge of the freezer, and slides into the opening in one fell swoop.

“It is clear,” her distant voice confirms.

Atlanna follows, offering Martha help, and Alfred is the last to join them. He seals the entrance behind them and inspects the sealed hatch that leads to the tunnel. Everything looks good, for now.

“What is this place?” Hippolyta asks. The three women look around, unused to secret lairs layered in technology. That’s always something that was meant for their children, not them.

“A contigency plan.” It’s an easy question to answer. Neither Clark nor Martha would have concoted something like this, but that does not mean they might not need it. “The longer Superman is active, the more at risk you are. Bruce thought it would be a good precaution.”

Alfred makes his way towards a handful of screens in the wall and turns them on. Cameras overlook the Kent property; they catch movement on some of them, but the things move too quickly under the cover of night, and the infrared is useless.

“There are snacks over there,” he calls over his shoulder, watching the cameras.

“Ha, treasure,” Atlanna cheers to herself and stuffs the snacks into her pockets. She never knows when she will need them. (In a house with two boys, Atlanna often sacrifices snacks for her precious little babies. Here, she plunders all the good stuff for herself. She will share, of course.)

“I don’t know how to feel about this.” Martha perches next to Alfred, looking at all the screens hesitantly. “Do you… watch me?”

“Me? No. It’s the surveillance pigeons you should worry about.”

“What?”

“Nevermind,” Alfred shakes his head. Those jokes are better appreciated by midly paranoid sons dressed as bats (or an assortment of birds). “I’ve only turned on these cameras tonight when you were initially chased. They were set off by the perimeter alarm. No one can get in or out without the override or your biometrics.” This place is for her, after all. Clark can take care of himself. “It wasn’t built to violate your privacy.”

Martha stares at the screens, thoughtful. For a long moment, she says nothing. “I know. Thank you for protecting me.”

“Do not fall for his masculine wiles. We all would have protected you,” Hippolyta points out.

“Oh, I already have, Lyta. I love Alfred with my whole heart, and nothing will change that.” Martha grins and leans in to give Alfred a half hug. He leans back, grinning at her.

“And I, you.”

“We never came back to that point earlier. Masculine wiles, have you fallen for them?” Atlanna asks, crunching through some kind of protein bar. The earlier point being how Hippolyta and Diana are similar. She knows Arthur was making an implication. Now, she wants details.

“What is the plan?”

“You’re ignoring me,” Atlanna hums.

“With good reason. There is a hunt to be executed. We have no time to gossip.”

“So, there is gossip.”

“I did not say that.”

“Mhm. Sure. Let us hunt now, and we will gossip later.”

Alfred turns in his stool, regarding the women before him. They are the splash of colour—the life—in this clinical room made of every spymaker’s dreams. The sparse blood is stark under the bright white lights, but otherwise, his companions seem to be just fine.

Good.

“First, we need to know what we’re hunting.” Or what was hunting them, and why? Alfred regards Martha. “They went after Martha first when she was alone. The leader spoke, and fought Lyta alone, but the others move in packs.” But that still doesn’t answer his question. What are they?

“He was smart. He made sure that there was no body to inspect.” Atlanna points out, casually.

“Where did he go? He just vanished.”

“He ran,” both Queen say at once. Their abilities to percieve the world around them is much diferent than humans. Hippolyta can track their adversary’s speed, and Atlanna can… feel it in the air.

“They do not bleed,” Hippolyta supplies.

“They do. A little, the blood is black.” Atlanna shows her hands that are stained, and the forks that she took with her. A good warrior knows to retrieve her projectiles. Whatever remains is thick and black. When dried, it crumbles like dust.

“I don’t have the equipment to analyze this.”

“Men and their tools.” Hippolyta rolls her eyes. “We do not need to know what they are, only what kills them. They retreated when the light turned on, why? It still went for Martha underneath the barn light.”

“We ensured the bulbs in the house emit enough UV light for Clark. New design, unpattented.”

“So,” Martha starts, gently beckoning the attention towards her. “They have fangs. No blood inside them. They ran from the uv light, which is like… sunlight.” She looks at her friends to see if they’re following her train of thought. Atlanna keeps eating, munching and watching Martha expectantly. Hippolyta seems to think that Martha is just listing things.

“The male was old. I could sense it.”

“And these things are long lived.” Oh, it makes so much sense. Martha shakes her head. “Are you really going to make me say it?” She looks to Alfred who only cocks his brow. “Oh, Alfred, I’m disappointed in you! Surely, you’ve seen something like this working with Bruce!”

“Vampires aren’t real.”

“Killer Croc.”

“A rare form of atavism.”

“Clayface.”

“Unfortunate chemical reaction.”

Martha motions at the women next to them. “Amazon Queen. Atlantean Queen.” She raises her hands, motioning vaguely at the ceiling (and probably the sky). “Aliens!”

Alfred sighs, and pinches his brows. “I know, but vampires? It seems so silly.”

“Bruce dresses up as a bat.”

“Oh, yes, I most definitely encouraged that.”

“What are these vampires?”

“Immortals that drink blood to survive, are vulnerable to sunlight, holy water and garlic. Other weaknesses is dismemberment and getting staked through the heart. Vampires have a hierarchy based on age, but some exceptional beings may be stronger upon siring. They can also spawn half-vampire children.”

“How… How do you know so much about vampires, Atlanna?”

“The nineteen ninety-eight film Blade is one of Arthur and Tom’s favourite films, and it has one of the most iconic opening scenes in cinema,” she recites, word for word.

“I see. Films are… not the most accurate sources of information,” Martha explains kindly.

“As opposed to your…?” Alfred tips his head in her direction.

“Oh, don’t give me that look, but… fine, you’re right.”

“We do no have sunlight, and Apollo does not answer to my prayers. What blessings do your water require?” Hippolyta assumes there is garlic in the kitchen, but she asks Alfred if he has packed some in this safehouse regardless. He should start packing some for next time. “It seems dismemberment is the ideal method.” The Queen pauses, thoughtful in her recommendations. “Why does the water need to be blessed? Can we not bless our weapons to improve them? Such is the way of the Amazons?”

“It’s like the two thousand three film, Underworld, where the weapons are imbued with the the enemy’s weakness. Excellent film.”

Martha chuckles softly, earning a raised brow from Atlanna.

“I’m sorry,” says the Kansas native. “I am just so fond of you, Lana.”

“And I, you, Matty.”

“I’ll raise you your blessed weapons,” Alfred says, walking towards the smooth walls and touching some invisible controls. “And I offer you incendiary rounds.”

The silver-white wall panels slide open, revealing a full-blown arsenal of weapons, from ballstics to melee weapons, each of which that could account for different League members and associates who would stand their ground to protect this farm. One of the racks is empty, the perch from which Martha had taken her shotgun.

“How do you like the upgrade?”

“I do not condone violence,” Martha smiles, highly appreciative of the sleek black weapon. “But I will not let my home get overrun.”

Hippolyta approaches one of the weapons, picking up a Springfield Hellion. She checks it with ease, then loads it up with the ammunition on the wall, specifically choosing which kind is suited for the combat they’re about to engage in. She finds a bag to carry additional bullets, and arms herself with combat knives and a sword that was clearly made for Diana by someone who favours carbon blacks far too much. (Diana would never abandon her goddess-gifted sword for… this, but it will do.)

The other three watch her in a kaleidoscope of surprise. Atlanna’s jaw drops.

“What… What happened to men and their tools?”

“They come second to me and my victory.” Hippolyta grins.

“Lyta, how do you know how to use a gun? How do you know how to use that gun?” Martha learned how to use her shotgun from her late husband. Jonathan had a revolver that was passed down through generations as a family heirloom, but other than that, she has little to no experience with that level of… military firepower.

“Gossip later.” Hippolyta hands Martha a bulletproof vest that has been fitted to her. It has pockets full of gadgets. There’s also a helmet, but for the inexperienced, it will hinder her more than anything, so she does not offer it to Martha. There are bracers, and Hippolyta helps Martha put them on.

She pauses, raising Martha’s hand and pressing the gauntlets against her forehead. She prays to the goddesses, and the gods who are in her debt, to protect this mortal woman.

“There, your armor has been blessed. No vampire shall touch you so long as you are protected by these.”

Atlanna looks around at the armory, finding nothing that interests her. She watches Alfred as he abandons his rifle in exchange for two other guns of different shapes.

“Would you like me to show you how to use these?”

“Oh, no. I’m fine. I saw something in the barn that I’d like to use.” Atlanna smiles kindly. She is a simple woman.

“We are armed. What is the plan?” Hippolyta asks Martha.

They all turn to Martha.

The attention startles her. Martha is used to keeping to herself, and minding her own business. Hero business has always been Clark’s expertise, but she does listen.

“First, we’re gonna make real sure these vampires know what kind of mistake they’ve made.” She stands tall, holding her shotgun proudly. “Second, vampires like to feed. If they can’t get what they need from us, they’re going to look for food elsewhere. We’re going to protect my town.”

“Hear, hear!” The Queens cheer. The birth of a new warrior is a cause to celebrate.

“Wait,” Alfred cuts through the rousing speech and excitement. “Shall we inform the children?”

The League will want to know. They’ll want to help. In the same way that Alfred berates Bruce for going out alone, he would like to show his son responsible decision-making.

“No.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Well, I dont want to worry Clark.”

Alfred palms his face, sighing. Of course, no one listens to him. Par for the course, really. He feels a comforting squeeze on his shoulder, and looks up to see Atlanna grinning at him.

“We raised those children and they are much better than we are. Humble, kind-hearted and very mindful of justice,” she nods.

“We, on the other hand,” Hippolyta smirks, leaning her hand on the sword at her hip. “Will not stop until all blood debts are repaid.”

“Or mild annoyances are returned tenfold.”

“Have either of you heard of excessive force?”

“No.”

“Nope.”

[ouchiecap]

Here's to the superheroes without capes, the ones who kiss away tears and make the world brighter with their love.

Happy Mother's Day to all the incredible moms out there, thank you for all you do! 

[penthouseinraipur]

Happy Mother's Day to all the woman who has been the guiding light and biggest supporter of their Child.

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[openaccessbpo]

Happy Mother's Day to all the incredible moms and mom figures out there! Your love, strength, and endless sacrifices make the world a better place.

Today, let's celebrate you, superheroes who juggle it all with grace and still manage to keep us laughing. You deserve all the love and appreciation today and every day.

[rabschippy]

🌸👩‍👧‍👦 Celebrating the Superheroes of RabsChippy! 👩‍👧‍👦🌸 On this special day, we at RabsChippy want to take a moment to appreciate all the incredible mothers out there! 💖 Thank you for the unconditional love, endless patience, and life lessons you provide. Your dedication and hard work are the foundations of our community. "Heaven lies beneath the feet of your mother" Prophet Muhammad (pbuh) We're proud to serve you, our superhero moms! Happy Mother's Day! 💖🌟 #MothersDay #SuperMoms #RabsChippy #MotherLove #CelebrateMoms (at Rabs Fish and Chips) https://www.instagram.com/p/Cp-Ml0zoN49/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[bia-wayne-west]

Mornings and waffles – Clark Kent x Reader

Characters: Clark Kent [Superman], Jon Kent [Superboy], Conner Kent [Superboy] and fem! Reader [You]

Synopsis: You have been married to Clark Kent for 12 years, and you live in the farmhouse in Smallville. You have two children, Jon Kent and Conner Kent. On a sunny morning, her two children jump on the bed to order pancakes and good morning kisses. You couldn't have a more perfect family.

Warnings: Superboys being super cute. N/A: I thought about doing something similar to Batmom but Superman. I always imagined what it would be like to be the mother of two super boys. Hope you like it. I hope you like it and that you feel how cute Superboys are. I'm a Latina girl who doesn't speak fluent English, so I want to apologize for any writing errors you find. Feel free to correct me.

Requests are open waiting for you

MASTERLIST

The sun was shining on the farm.  The light came in through the window, but you didn't bother because you were hugging your husband's huge body.  Clark used to sleep completely clinging to you, so the sun didn't hurt him.

You were about to wake up, but you could have a few more good minutes for you and Superman in bed together.  Well, you planned to stay in bed until you decided to leave, but your children didn't want to contribute to your wish.

You felt two heavy bodies jumping on the bed, on top of you.  Your eyes snapped open, and you sighed wearily when you saw Jon's bright blue eyes staring back at you.  He and Conner were in bed, trying to wake their parents.

“Waffles!”  Jon yelled, jumping on you.

Jonathan was ten and Conner was eighteen, but they still liked to jump into their parents' bed on a Sunday morning to order coffee.  They could just ask Martha or wait for you to wake up, but it was more fun to jump on you.

“Jon it's still five in the morning, go to bed.” You grumbled, running your hand through your youngest son's hair.

“It's time for coffee, Mom.  And the father has to fix the barn again.”  This time it was Conner who spoke.  He was hunched over Clark's body, who kept his eyes closed, was awake, but still didn't open his eyes.

It was hard to get Clark to accept Conner.  At first, he treated the boy with utter contempt and it broke your heart.  There were hours of conversation, and he only accepted his eldest son after having a conversation with Bruce, which made your husband open his mind.

Conner suddenly came into your life, but you can't imagine a complete family without their pretty boy.  It took Clark a few years to accept the clone as a son and call him that, but when he called the boy son for the first time, your heart was full of love.

“And we want waffles.”  Jon said again, sitting up in bed.  He was in his pajamas with a dinosaur design on it and his hair was totally disheveled, and his face was crumpled up from sleep.

“Then let's make waffles.”  You said, giving up.  Their children uttered an exclamation of joy, making a high-five between them.  “There will be waffles for you too, Mr. Kent.”  You whispered in the ear of your husband, who now had his eyes open and smiling at Jon.

“Come on, Jon.  Whoever gets to the table first will get the most coffee.”  Superboy suggested, getting out of bed in the field.  Jon also got up, and the two ran to the kitchen, betting on a race.

You let out a weak moan, hugging your husband again.  He hugged you back, pressing a soft kiss to your neck.

“Let's get up, we have to feed the two beasts.”  Clark joked, taking off the blanket so he could put his feet on the ground.

You smiled, repeating your husband's act and going to the bathroom.  Within minutes, you had washed your face, brushed your teeth, and changed your clothes.

You were already in the kitchen, putting the batter in the machine to turn it into a chocolate waffle.  Jon and Conner already had their mouths covered with so much chocolate, but they still wanted to repeat four more servings.

Martha, your mother-in-law, was helping you make coffee.  She was by his side, frying eggs and bacon.  She smiled at you, with that sweet face that only she had.

“They're very gluttonous.”

You both laughed, and smiled even more when you saw that Jonathan was frowning, probably because you heard his grandmother's comment.

“I only ate seven waffles and three pieces of bacon.  I didn't even eat that much.” He confessed, making a cute pout.

“Okay, so, since you're not eating much, that portion of bacon and eggs goes to your dad.”  You joked, putting the fresh food Martha had just prepared on your husband's plate, who thanked you with a kiss on the cheek.

Conner groaned.  After you and your mother-in-law finished cooking, the two of you joined them for a nice family breakfast.

You laughed at each other, talked about silly topics, and showed how much you loved each other.

“We have a perfect family.”  Clark confessed, running his hand gently over his arm.  “A completely loving and amazing family.” He concluded with a smile when he saw Martha lightly pat Conner's hand gently as he tried to grab one of his grandmother's bacon.

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for @miri-tiazan; alpha!Kon and his supermom. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

Clara smooths Kon’s hair back out of his eyes; peers down at his face. He doesn't know why she's bothering. He's not doing anything. He's just . . . here, kind of. 

And he's not someone she should even notice anyway, some distant part of him thinks. For–some reason. For some reason, Clara shouldn't notice him. Shouldn't . . . 

Clara croons soothingly, a note of concern slipping into her scent. Kon doesn't know why. Then he realizes someone somewhere’s making these weird little hitched, distressed noises, though, so it must be because of . . . whoever's doing that. 

He should let Clara go deal with that. She's Superwoman, so–so he should let her go deal with that. Or . . . or something. 

He doesn't wanna let her go, though. He doesn't wanna go back to not having this yet. He doesn't wanna . . . 

But he has to, or he's not good enough for her anyway. Not a good enough pup successor, or ally, or . . . 

The distressed noises get louder, so–so Kon has to let her go, even though the idea of actually letting her go makes him feel nauseous and unsafe and like something fucking awful's gonna happen. He–he has to. 

He tries to pull back from her and the noises get even more upset, and Clara–Clara tightens her grip on him, for some reason? But–but she can't do that, because he's being bad if he lets her do that, because he's not good enough for her if he lets her do that, because–because–

“Is that Kon?” Lois asks, sounding concerned. 

“Yes,” Clara says, tightening her arms around him again and sounding stressed and worried, because Kon’s being bad and being a disappointment and making her stressed and worried and keeping her from doing her job just like Cadmus made him to and just like–just like–

Someone . . . else made him to do that, didn't they? Not just Cadmus. Someone else made him to . . . 

“Kon,” Clara says, her voice tight with concern and the grip of her arms perfectly safe and horribly awful and absolutely inescapable. “It's alright, pup, you’re–” 

Kon bursts into tears and buries his face against her collarbone and clings to her, and Clara grips him even tighter in response. She’s stronger than anybody in the world and he’s never been anywhere safer and he’s bad. He's bad, he's so bad, he's not a pup or a person and he doesn't deserve any name Clara ever gave him and he's so bad and he’s–and he’s– 

He's just what Cadmus made him to be. He's just what–just what– 

Someone made him to be bad, and he is. 

Kon cries harder than he’s ever cried before, harder than he’s even cried over dead people, and Clara tries to croon and purr at him and it only makes it worse. She’s trying to be so nice to him but he doesn’t deserve it, he’s . . . he’s bad. He’s a bad, bad thing and Clara should never, ever have given him her crest or “Superboy” or “Kon-El” and . . . and he’s the worst thing he could possibly be, and he was made that way. 

That’s all he is, is the bad thing he was made to be.

[stochastique-blog]

True

To all the mothers who create homes everywhere despite all odds, you’re the real mvp.

To all moms who do this magic life giving gifting look easy, even though it’s the hardest job ever, you’re the real mvp.

To all the moms who do this even though they never pushed the child out of their womb, you’re the real mvp.

To all moms who make civilization rise, despite all patriarchal blockages, you’re the real mvp.

Happy Mother’s Day

#supermoms #realmvp #mothersday https://www.instagram.com/p/BxXo94MlWlr/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1k1rmpdtj79rb

[iamafanofcartoons]

(Weronika Ziebakowska) You are my Supermom! Summer Rose and Yang Xiao Long The rest is below https www reddit com r RWBY comments okf0as weronika_ziębakowska_you_are_my_supermom_summer/

[pr0blemd0g]

happy mother’s day to polly draper, who was worried about her kids being child actors so she just casually created, executive produced, wrote, and directed an entire tv show for them so she’d be in the best position to keep them safe.

[momma3sunflowers]

Past Sadie hates me, and left me with 235 oz to bag up 🙃 that bitch.

A few proud moments for me:

Look how fatty my milk is 😇 I feed 5 babies and I’m makin an army of chunks!

I’m 6 months into pumping, my goal is a year. So far I’ve made 140 gallons. Big moo 🐮

[super-hero-confessions]

[tortoise-teapot]

ventpost lol

remembering how my mother used to give me rants about how i would never attract a partner with my posture so slouched and she would grab my shoulders and hold them back for an hour at a time and it hurt so so bad i would start crying

fastforward 20 years i'm getting a backrub from a cutie i later fumbled. they say, "Oh, huh. your spine leans forward at the top." then gave it a kiss and moved on

fastforward another 5 years. i finally get an xray. my spine is tilted forward. chiropractor said i need immediate adjustment, i politely called him a hack and said i was just looking for diagnosis.

Call my mom. show her the xray. explain it all. "WEIRD!"

that's it that's the comment.

you tortured me for hours over something built-in to my body that a horny medical layperson diagnosed in two seconds??? by just paying attention to me?

anyway my mom just asked "how's your back? does it still hurt because you slouch?"

😐

[lilbitlatil]

Can ya help a girl out please just need people to vote one time a day. TIA😊 https://votesupermom.org/2024/stephanie-anthony

[bia-wayne-west]

The worst part of being bilingual is that you read something and your mind thinks it was in a certain language, then you spend hours looking for that imagine and only later discover that it was in another language.