Rita Dove, From The Collected Poems Of Rita Dove: "Beauty And The Beast,"

Betty White and a bear stop what you’re doing and reblog

Betty White: First Lady of Television (Netflix)

I wouldn’t say he’s my favourite Ghoul but I would say he is the number one cat that Sister has to regularly chase with a broom.

“My friends call me he, or they. The government and most of my family call me she. The media calls me she, because I don't trust them enough to request that they do anything else. My lover calls me sweetheart. Or baby. Somewhere in all of that I find myself.”

Gender Failure by Ivan Coyote and Rae Spoon

Any time someone says they hate ABBA, Tobias Forge kills a Papa

Clubbing

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Cartoon Girls + Dance Club

(click for better resolution)

Yes.

ATTENTION ALL GIRLS AND LADIES: if you walk from home, school, office or anywhere and you are alone and you come across a little boy crying holding a piece of paper with an address on it, DO NOT TAKE HIM THERE! take him straight to the police station for this is the new 'gang' way of rape. The incident is getting worse. Warn your families. Reblog this so this message can get accross to everyone.

my hunter’s moon review:

Minors DNI (18+)

A Calm Night

Jason Voorhees x g/n Reader

TWs: Hunting mention, blood mention, drowning mention— listen, this is just a fluffy piece about the reader taking care of Jason. That’s it that’s all— just a whole bunch of self indulgent fluff.

“Jason!”

Calling off the porch, you wait patiently. He’s out there in the forest somewhere— you know it. He’d brought his archery gear when he left, whether practicing or hunting, he promised he wasn’t going far.

Not that you ever had to worry about that.

There were his heavy footsteps, then his large figure emerged. His hands bloody, he looks quite pleased with himself.

“I got a deer!” He signs to you, gestures quick with excitement.

“Really? That’s amazing!” You cheer, opening your arms for him, “Come inside and get washed up, you can tell me all about it over dinner.”

He squeezes you back when you hug him, his arms snug around you, the bloody hands staying away— knowing well you don’t like scrubbing blood out of your sweaters.

You tell him about the dinner you prepared as he washes up— the conversation is good to keep his mind off the water. You lead him to the table, where your places are set. Gesturing to his seat, he settles in as you collect the dishes and load them up. Setting it in front of him, you take the opportunity now that he’s sitting to press a kiss to his head.

A rare opportunity to kiss skin.

Jason becomes flustered— he always becomes flustered when you take care of him like this. The kiss only further solidifies your place in his heart.

He begins to sign in that one-handed half-word kind of way, explaining how he went out to practice and ended up finding the stag he came across. Dropping his utensil into his dinner, both hands move around his head, where his mask sits half-off.

“They must be huge!” His arms move out and up to express the sheer size of the antlers, before coming back down to promise he would be bringing them back later.

“Why don’t you bring them and the meat in after dinner? We can get it all put away.”

Idle conversation continues over dinner, only pausing when he goes to collect the meat, and you clean up the kitchen. By the time he comes back you’re prepared to start sealing away the fresh meat.

In one hand, the package of meat. The other, cleanly severed, large antlers.

Fawning over how pretty they are, you both make quick work of preserving the meat. You send him down to the cellar, where you keep the deep freezer. As he carefully puts away nicely packaged cuts of meat, you tend to preparing for his shower.

It was something you were helping him work through— the extreme fear of water associated with his drowning, had him running for the hills when it came to baths. Showers, while still bringing intense anxiety, could be managed if done right.

Soft towels and nice smelling soap waits with you.

He knows what’s coming next— you were very insistent on daily bathing. But your insistence on his self care didn’t upset him. He knew you didn’t want to hurt him. Your eyes are too kind and soft, your smile is too sweet.

So of course, he shyly makes his way to the bathroom, hands squeezing and relaxing— a nervous fidget, shifting from one foot to another.

“It’s okay, you know I’ll be right here with you. We can make it quick and go right to bed. How does that sound?”

The tension in his shoulders release just the tiniest bit.

He’s so timid as he begins to undress, cued on by your own disrobing. Led by the hand, you take the first step into the running water, letting it fall down your back as you guide him in. There’s just enough room for the both of you, and the water doesn’t even have to touch him.

Grabbing his loofah, you load it up with soap and run it under the water, going to work gently scrubbing his body. Stopping only to get more warm water on it.

“There we go— how’s it feel? Are you warm enough?”

You aren’t surprised he kept the mask. Even though you’ve seen his face, he’s always far more comfortable in it, than without it.

As you wash his back, he washes his legs and junk, turning so you can scrub his chest and stomach.

“Alright, there we go… here, for your face.” A washcloth with face wash sits warm in your hand, holding it out for him to take— he always takes it, turns away, and removes the mask for washing. A habit you’ve grown accustomed to.

But now, he hesitates.

When you ask why, he somehow becomes even more shy. Fumbling with his hands before he finally signs, asking simply, “can you?”

“Would you be comfortable with me doing it? I don’t want to make you anymore uncomfortable, I know this is already stressful…”

He shakes his head, grabbing his mask slowly, he pulls it up and off.

Clasping it in his hands, he can’t seem to meet your gaze.

You smile, and gently cup his cheek. “Hello handsome, thank you for letting me help.”

Jason turns to putty in your hands as you gently wash his face— small circles on his cheeks and forehead, a little extra love under the right side of his neck, where a bit of blood splatter dried.

So careful and considerate, not a bubble gets in his eyes. Nor does he become overwhelmed by the feeling of water on his face.

All he can focus on is you.

“There you go.” You press a kiss to his cheek when you’ve finished, and begin to finally wash yourself— Jason imagines assisting you as you do for him, every touch from him would be tender and loving. He would be just as careful as you are, he knows it.

For now, though, he stands patiently as you rinse off.

He steps out first, and you’re quick to follow, wrapping yourself in a towel, you begin to pat him down— and he stops you with a hand on your wrist. As you begin expressing your confusion on your face, he reaches for your towel. Gently freeing it from your body, he begins to pat you down.

His mask set beside the sink, he’s attentive as he dries you off.

“Thank you, Jason.” The whisper tickles his ear when you hug him, his arms wrapping securely around you, he scoops you up.

In the bedroom, both your pajamas sit folded neatly on the end of the bed. He takes great care to put them on you— he’s never done this before, but that doesn’t seem to matter.

Because when you lay down to sleep, hugging his head to your chest, his arms around your middle, you know he loves you in ways words couldn’t describe. He’s said it before, but moments like these make it all the more clear just what he meant; he loves you more than he could ever express.