#denial is real

[kookminis3d]

JK: *is jealous*

Army: JK is just a fluffy baby

JK: *shoves people away from Jimin*

Army: JK is never angry

JK: *activates beast mode*

Army: It’s fan service

[sugahyeon]

New way to cope unlock: taking pretty pictures of Foolish's builds in the rain

[endusviolence]

Rowling isn't denying holocaust. She just pointed out that burning of transgender health books is a lie as that form of cosmetic surgery didn't exist. But of course you knew that already, didn't you?

I was thinking I'd probably see one of you! You're wrong :) Let's review the history a bit, shall we?

In this case, what we're talking about is the Institut für Sexualwissenschaft, or in English, The Institute of Sexology. This Institute was founded and headed by a gay Jewish sexologist named Magnus Hirschfeld. It was founded in July of 1919 as the first sexology research clinic in the world, and was run as a private, non-profit clinic. Hirschfeld and the researchers who worked there would give out consultations, medical advice, and even treatments for free to their poorer clientele, as well as give thousands of lectures and build a unique library full of books on gender, sexuality, and eroticism. Of course, being a gay man, Hirschfeld focused a lot on the gay community and proving that homosexuality was natural and could not be "cured".

Hirschfeld was unique in his time because he believed that nobody's gender was either one or the other. Rather, he contended that everyone is a mixture of both male and female, with every individual having their own unique mix of traits.

This leads into the Institute's work with transgender patients. Hirschfeld was actually the one to coin the term "transsexual" in 1923, though this word didn't become popular phrasing until 30 years later when Harry Benjamin began expanding his research (I'll just be shortening it to trans for this brief overview.) For the Institute, their revolutionary work with gay men eventually began to attract other members of the LGBTA+, including of course trans people.

Contrary to what Anon says, sex reassignment surgery was first tested in 1912. It'd already being used on humans throughout Europe during the 1920's by the time a doctor at the Institute named Ludwig Levy-Lenz began performing it on patients in 1931. Hirschfeld was at first opposed, but he came around quickly because it lowered the rate of suicide among their trans patients. Not only was reassignment performed at the Institute, but both facial feminization and facial masculization surgery were also done.

The Institute employed some of these patients, gave them therapy to help with other issues, even gave some of the mentioned surgeries for free to this who could not afford it! They spoke out on their behalf to the public, even getting Berlin police to help them create "transvestite passes" to allow people to dress however they wanted without the threat of being arrested. They worked together to fight the law, including trying to strike down Paragraph 175, which made it illegal to be homosexual. The picture below is from their holiday party, Magnus Hirschfeld being the gentleman on the right with the fabulous mustache. Many of the other people in this photo are transgender.

[Image ID: A black and white photo of a group of people. Some are smiling at the camera, others have serious expressions. Either way, they all seem to be happy. On the right side, an older gentleman in glasses- Magnus Hirschfeld- is sitting. He has short hair and a bushy mustache. He is resting one hand on the shoulder of the person in front of him. His other hand is being held by a person to his left. Another person to his right is holding his shoulder.]

There was always push back against the Institute, especially from conservatives who saw all of this as a bad thing. But conservatism can't stop progress without destroying it. They weren't willing to go that far for a good while. It all ended in March of 1933, when a new Chancellor was elected. The Nazis did not like homosexuals for several reasons. Chief among them, we break the boundaries of "normal" society. Shortly after the election, on May 6th, the book burnings began. The Jewish, gay, and obviously liberal Magnus Hirschfeld and his library of boundary-breaking literature was one of the very first targets. Thankfully, Hirschfeld was spared by virtue of being in Paris at the time (he would die in 1935, before the Nazis were able to invade France). His library wasn't so lucky.

This famous picture of the book burnings was taken after the Institute of Sexology had been raided. That's their books. Literature on so much about sexuality, eroticism, and gender, yes including their new work on trans people. This is the trans community's Alexandria. We're incredibly lucky that enough of it survived for Harry Benjamin and everyone who came after him was able to build on the Institute's work.

[Image ID: A black and white photo of the May Nazi book burning of the Institute of Sexology's library. A soldier, back facing the camera, is throwing a stack of books into the fire. In the background of the right side, a crowd is watching.]

As the Holocaust went on, the homosexuals of Germany became a targeted group. This did include transgender people, no matter what you say. To deny this reality is Holocaust denial. JK Rowling and everyone else who tries to pretend like this isn't reality is participating in that evil. You're agreeing with the Nazis.

But of course, you knew that already, didn't you?

Edit: Added image IDs. I apologize to those using screen readers for forgetting them. Please reblog this version instead.

[duckysprouts]

girlies when they realize they’re a bit like their father(s)

[awfulcake]

What-? No no , ma'am , no drama here !!

Play Mouthwashing.

[larrylimericks]

19Oct24

No matter how mad the word made us, It always held hope — a “hiatus.”

I’m sad for so many reasons — the fundamental sadness of death, and at such a young age; having to process the mortality of someone so extraordinary it seems they should transcend a fate as ordinary as dying; aching for his family and friends; angry that he had to navigate such a cruel world, one that continues to disrespect him in death. Yes, Liam was damaged and in turn damaged others; he had demons to face and amends to make — I like to think he would have, given a chance. His talent was so immense, and there was so much more to come. I believe he would have found a way to redemption, and then had such a beautiful renaissance.

The joy of being a 1D fan has always been policed and mocked. We’ve so frequently been laughed at, dismissed for the intensity of our love for the band. And now, the world wants to do the same with our grief, questioning its legitimacy, trivializing our feelings. But this loss is real. And this grief is valid.

And the grief of losing Liam is compounded by the grief of losing so much else. He wasn’t just a celebrity. They weren’t just a boyband. He was an integral part of an integral part of our formative years — no matter how old we were when we found them. So many of us are the people we are in part because of the people they are. Were. We’ve lost a beloved one, we’ve lost innocence, we’ve lost inspiration, we’ve lost a piece of our foundation.

We’ve lost hope.

It used to frustrate me, in retrospect, that they called it a “hiatus.” It felt dishonest — like a gentle lie to let us down easy. Why couldn’t they just say it was over? That being a boy band has a built-in shelf life, and it was time to explore solo careers. But now I understand the kindness in that word. For hope springs eternal, and it didn’t matter if it never came. All that matters was that it might. And “hiatus” wasn’t just for us; it held their optimism too. Especially Liam’s. It left the door open, even if only a crack, for the possibility of something more.

It’s been a remarkable gift to watch each one find his own path and his own voice. But when they announced a hiatus in 2015, they planted a seed of hope that someday we’d see the unrivaled magic of those boys on stage together again — the greatest team the world has ever seen. Maybe Zayn would join, probably not. Maybe it would’ve been a one-off thing for charity or a special anniversary. Maybe it would be in their 50s when the allure of easy money from a reunion tour was too tempting to resist. But surely, eventually, 1D would reunite in some capacity. I was excited to see how their once frenetic energy and youthful antics would meld with the mature solo artists they’ve become.

That hope sustained us through 18 months and eventually eight years, but now the hiatus is over. I would have happily clowned for every remaining day of my life than know this new certainty brought by the finality of Liam’s death. Maybe, someday, there will be a memorial performance. Maybe we’ll see three or four out of five come together to honor him — and what a poignant testament it will be that Liam was what could bring them together. Or maybe it will never feel right to them to take the stage without him, and that, too, will make all the sense in the world.

I wish I had an uplifting ending for this post. I don’t. I wake up and my first thought is “Liam isn’t here anymore,” and then I go about my day with that relentless realization lurking around the corner of every mundane task I do.

I haven’t been able to listen to their music yet. It’s a cruel trick that the thing that always brought comfort is now a trigger for grief. But I hope that will soon change. That, at some point, I’ll put on WMYB, get choked up at “You’re insecure” and second-guess my readiness. But then jump to History, and find solace in the lyrics that are currently rattling around my brain but aren’t ready to be heard yet: “This is not the end, this is not the end” … “We can live forever.”

❯❯❯❯

[jensensitive]

"why couldn't jensen have said this ten years ago" because he couldn't and that's why it hits! Jensen admitting that dean and cas's romance is down to he and misha being open and emotionally available to whatever naturally happens as a result of their chemistry is many years coming in the slow burn between jensen and his own self acceptance, i think

[imminent-danger-came]

2x02 // 3x01 // 3x03 // 3x13 // 4x12

Team huddle!

[mipmoth]

When Ingo was sent through the time space distortion it left behind a ghost of his lost memories

[writerquil]

when I go to a ship page for shits and giggles and so I can laugh and internally pick fun at it only to start shipping it myself

[tiredandoptimistic]

So, we know that Abed is the one who invited Annie, Shirley, Pierce, and Troy to join the study group. Annie and Shirley make a lot of sense; they're both relatively friendly and clearly intelligent, it's easy to imagine either of them having brief positive interactions with Abed that would lead him to thinking of them. Pierce, while not someone I think Abed would seek out, is 100% down for inserting himself into situations. I bet he overheard Abed talking to Shirley or someone and invited himself from there. Troy, though? Troy is a little more complicated. I know that Troy and Abed are the iconic duo of all time, but it took time for that to develop. I have trouble believing that they just somehow had a good chat or something before the pilot, because in the episode Troy refers to Abed as "slumdog millionaire," which makes Shirley call him racist. I know that Troy was leaning hard into his asshole jock behavior during the beginning of season one, but I truly do not think he would say something like that if he had actually interacted with Abed. We know that Troy thinks incredibly highly of Abed once he gets to know him, and that his adoration is what pulls Troy out of his shitty high school persona. Even if he wasn't immediately able to acknowledge that he aspired to be more like Abed, he wouldn't be casually dismissing him like that if they'd ever really interacted. So, this leads me to the only possible conclusion: Abed just had a stupid crush on Troy from day one and wanted an excuse to spend more time with him outside of class. Abed might pride himself on his objective observational powers, but even he isn't perfectly logical. He'd probably tell himself that it's because a jock archetype would round out the ensemble cast dynamic, but in reality Abed is not in fact immune to Pretty Boy.

[beautyofattolia]

I think the order of reasons Katniss gives for why Peeta shouldn't be mad at her for playing up their romance is so funny. Like she starts with the fact that they didn't know each other and she was trying to survive and that she doesn't understand what exists between her and Gale. But then she goes into "well I'm never going to get married and he'll just hate me for that!" and "I can't afford love that leads to children or family!"

Girl. Why are you thinking about marriage or children with a man you claim you have no feelings for? Did Peeta ever say he wanted to get married? Did he ever say he wanted children?

NO! Katniss is literally doing this all on her own! She's coming up with a happily-ever-after-domestic-bliss-married-with-kids fantasy in her head with absolutely no input from Peeta and then is like "I could never give him what he wants!"

What he wants? Or what you want, Katnsis?

She's down so bad for him and we're not even in Catching Fire yet.

[philinof]

dan being like “phil these are like booty shorts” and phil being like “yeah that’s the point 🙄”

[ironskyfinder]

Bounce/drop

Goonettes are one of god’s gifts to man.

Naive, doe-eyed, innocent girls who get exposure to the right kinds of filth at the right time end up as self-addicted pleasure dolls, chasing the next edge, the next rush. The only problem - for them, not for anyone else - is that often they rub themselves so dumb they can’t be trusted to edge without making mistakes and giving into pleasure, and they get to be so brainless that they need instructions on how best to corrupt themselves. 

As I said, not a problem for anyone else.

Emily had still been a feminist, when she started following me - not much of one, but she still had moments where she'd go back to thinking she was equal, that she should go to college and have a career and make something of her life outside the kitchen and bedroom - and she hated it.

She mentioned, in one of her messages, that she had always wished she could make her breasts more sensitive - at a 38GG, I liked to remind her she had 'udders' - so, one of the times she asked for me to make her brain worse, I took her on an edge she still thanks me for even today.

ironskymaker [10:58PM] I wrote instructions for an edge for you, but this is a much more directed edge than just sending you gooning fuel and some degrading messages, so you’ll need to be able to narrow your attention to this so that you can respond when prompted. Understood?

ironskymaker [10:58PM] I'm not going to ask you to focus, I know you can't do that, not really.

goonette4everr [11:00PM] yes

ironskymaker [11:02PM] You’ll need to follow along closely, okay? I’m going to have you hump a pillow - I think you should use the pillow you sleep on - over and over and over, and I’m going to try and break your brain even more than usual. Ready?

goonette4everr [11:03PM] yessir

ironskymaker [11:04PM] As always, you should be naked when you edge. Take a selfie, once you are - think of it as the ‘before’ photo, so we can compare how you look once I’m done with you.

goonette4everr [11:05PM] you assume right. selfie taken.

ironskymaker [11:05PM] Face the mirror and start humping, nice and slow. Be gentle enough it’s frustrating, like I’m teasing you by holding your hips, slowing you down - just enough pressure that your clit begs for more, not enough to start you grinding mindlessly.

goonette4everr [11:07PM] ok...ok thas gonna drive me nuts

ironskymaker [11:08PM] That’s exactly the point. Light, little motions at first, enough to make you want to grumble and moan and swear because it's such a teasing sensation.

goonette4everr [11:08PM] fuck

ironskymaker [11:10PM] Good goonette, keep going. Little by little, faster and harder. Hips rocking back and forth, little by little pressing more against the pillow with those little motions. Watch yourself in the mirror, teased and frustrated but still grinding away like you’re told.

goonette4everr [11:10PM] hmmmnnn

ironskymaker [11:11PM] You’ve been craving this all week. Let yourself relax into it. You need this, turning your brain off and letting your clit think for you, edging for hours and hours until it’s all a blur. Keep humping, a little faster, a little harder  - you should be starting to feel it now. 

ironskymaker [11:13PM] How does your edge taste?

goonette4everr [11:13PM] goood, so wet

ironskymaker [11:14PM] Start grinding and humping faster, little by little. Every time you hump your pillow, you grind the littlest bit faster. 

goonette4everr [11:15PM] hunh...feelin it now

goonette4everr [11:15PM] fuck!

ironskymaker [11:16PM] Less and less gently, keep your hips moving, faster and faster. Let the motions grow, the harder the edge gets the more you move.

ironskymaker [11:17PM] Keep going, a little harder every time you hump. Make the motions bigger, gradually starting to grind with a little more pressure each time. Harder, faster, keep grinding on your pillow. Look at yourself in the mirror and make an ahegao face, grinding extra hard and extra slow while you let your tongue hang out until the drool hits your tits. 

goonette4everr [11:19PM] hnnnnnn oh ffuuuuuck

ironskymaker [11:19PM] Don’t forget to tug on your nipples a little to make them hard, if they weren’t already; don’t stop humping. 

goonette4everr [11:20PM] theyr hard, mmmm god

ironskymaker [11:21PM] Pinch and pull on your teats, grind on your pillow more. Reach back and tease your asshole a little.

ironskymaker [11:21PM] Remember, all your useful parts deserve to be part of your edge - speaking of your mouth, test your gag reflex as you start humping faster and harder.

goonette4everr [11:22PM] hkkkkkkkkk

ironskymaker [11:22PM] How are you feeling, lil goonette?

goonette4everr [11:23PM] goodsogood! fukkk

goonette4everr [11:23PM] i look so dum so horni

goonette4everr [11:24PM] fuck!!

ironskymaker [11:25PM] Good! But I want you extra desperate and broken, so I’m giving you a break.

ironskymaker [11:25PM] Sit up off your pillow, so your drippy clit is nowhere near anything that might stimulate it - then hump the air, bouncing a little.

ironskymaker [11:27PM] Understood?

goonette4everr [11:27PM] whait noo 

goonette4everr [11:28PM] nnnnnooo oh ok, ok, i will i will

ironskymaker [11:28PM] I know, it's hard to have self-control - but you don't need to! I'll have your self-control instead, just relax and obey.

goonette4everr [11:30PM] obeyying...is...goood....thanku sir

ironskymaker [11:30PM] Keep humping. Feel your tits swing as you bounce, feel how they want to pull you down, back onto the pillow. Grab one, suck on your nipple. Hump and grind and bounce. Grab the other and suck on both your nipples at once, then let them drop from your mouth. Hump the air a little more, bounce and let your udders drop, feel them pulling all the thoughts out of your brain.

goonette4everr [11:32PM] hnnnnnn

ironskymaker [11:32PM] Bounce and hump the air until your tits pull all the thoughts from your brain, until they pull you back down to humping your pillow.

ironskymaker [11:33PM] Doesn’t your edge feel better already?

goonette4everr [11:33PM] yyyyeesss

ironskymaker [11:34PM] Again, humping and grinding like a good girl, faster and harder. Grind your clit into your pillow as you reduce yourself to obedient holes for a stranger on the internet, like a real feminist traitor. 

goonette4everr [11:35PM] i feel so slutty an stupid

goonette4everr [11:36PM] itsh shooo gooood!!!

ironskymaker [11:37PM] Look in the mirror - do you like the slut you see?

ironskymaker [11:37PM] Hump and bounce and whisper to yourself that your holes and tits are all that matter, they give you value and purpose and a reason for men to find you useful. 

goonette4everr [11:39PM] i lov bein a traitor!! i luv lookin at myshelf bein a whoooore

goonette4everr [11:39PM] yessss hnnnn

ironskymaker [11:41PM] Grind even faster, even harder. You can really feel it now - you’re pressing harder, humping faster, hips moving more so you bounce - and when you bounce, your udders swing. When your udders swing, you feel your brain drain and you’re closer to just being tits and holes. Holes keep being drippy, tits keep bouncing.

ironskymaker [11:42PM] Now how does your edge taste, lil goonette?

goonette4everr [11:42PM] tassts like dspration

ironskymaker [11:43PM] Good. Keep going. Hump and bounce, letting the haze of the edge and the pull of your tits wash your mind away. 

ironskymaker [11:44PM] Harder, faster, humping and grinding, leaking all over your pillow - pause for a moment, to bury your face in the wet spot you’re making, take a deep breath. Then get back on your pillow and keep humping. The smell and taste of your edge everywhere, rewiring your brain to tie that to the overwhelming pleasure you’re feeling.

goonette4everr [11:45PM] hhhnnnnn

goonette4everr [11:45PM] so dirrty

ironskymaker [11:46PM] You liked that too much not to do it again. Put your face into the pillow, rub it into the wet spot. You love how the sensation corrupts you, how it makes your edge so much stronger. Don’t you?

goonette4everr [11:48PM] fuck pleas yess

ironskymaker [11:49PM] Edging makes you feel so good, your brain can barely take it - but that’s fine, you don’t need it anyway, you don’t need to think.

ironskymaker [11:49PM] The instructions become your actions.

ironskymaker [11:50PM] Your clit isn’t there to handle big thoughts, your udders aren’t made for thinking, but you were made to obey. Keep humping and grinding, edging and bouncing, faster and harder. 

goonette4everr [11:52PM] hmmm...yesh yeh no thnk...jus...edge

ironskymaker [11:53PM] The more you edge, the more you’re just drooling holes and bouncing udders. Wipe the slick juices running down your thighs all over your face and imagine tasting it on a thick cock filling your throat. Don’t stop grinding, don’t stop bouncing, keep your hips moving.

goonette4everr [11:54PM] bounc

ironskymaker [11:54PM] Wipe the slick mess from your cunt onto your nipples, pinch and pull on your teats. Keep one of your teats in your mouth, massage and milk the other. Hump and bounce and grind, let your brain go blank, then let your udder drop and suck your other nipple clean. Are you enjoying yourself?

goonette4everr [11:56PM] iy am...iam!!!

goonette4everr [11:57PM] i tayst so gud

ironskymaker [11:57PM] Does the girl looking back at you from the mirror seem like she’s having fun too?

goonette4everr [11:59PM] she dos, she looks sho happi, so blank

ironskymaker [11:59PM] I bet she looks like a porndoll. Her eyes all unfocused, sweaty, shaking, needy, her desperate clit soaking her pillow. 

goonette4everr [12:00AM] mmmhmmm...such a needyslut

goonette4everr [12:00AM] shooo dum

ironskymaker [12:01AM] Time for another break.

goonette4everr [12:01AM] hnnnnnnnn!!!!

ironskymaker [12:02AM] I know you don’t want to, but - stop edging, sit up so you can hump the air like the desperate fuckmeat you are.

goonette4everr [12:03AM] yeshyesytes!

ironskymaker [12:04AM] I know you’re horny, I know you’re needy, just let your hips move against the nothing and let the ache drain your thoughts away.

ironskymaker [12:04AM] And, while you do - pick up your tits, play with them, squeeze and massage them, hold them out and then drop them.

goonette4everr [12:05AM] mmm...

ironskymaker [12:05AM] Feel that pull make you dumber. Let the things you used to call ‘important’ wash away as you start bouncing in the air, as your udders pull your thoughts out of your mind

ironskymaker [12:06AM] Did you have work today, did you have plans after, were there errands that need doing? Pick up your tits, play with them, then drop them as you bounce, and all of it is gone.

goonette4everr [12:07AM] hmmm...gone. 

goonette4everr [12:07AM] allgone

ironskymaker [12:09AM] Bounce, drop. Take another selfie, see what you look like after I’ve played with your brain for less than an hour, and imagine how much more I’ll do.

goonette4everr [12:09AM] hheeehee she looksh crazi

goonette4everr [12:10AM] sush a mess!

ironskymaker [12:10AM] Hump, grind, bounce, drop. Tits don’t have plans. Holes don’t run errands.

goonette4everr [12:11AM] mmmmmm

ironskymaker [12:11AM] There’s only obedience, only edging and doing what you’re told. Bounce, drop, hump, grind.

goonette4everr [12:12AM] only

goonette4everr [12:12AM] please 

ironskymaker [12:12AM] How does your edge taste now?

goonette4everr [12:14AM] sssssgud

goonette4everr [12:14AM] ssssssnice

goonette4everr [12:14AM] fuckk

ironskymaker [12:15AM] Bounce, drop. More thoughts gone, brain all drained. Hump, grind, bounce, drop. 

ironskymaker [12:16AM] Bounce, drop. Take another selfie, see what you look like after I’ve played with your brain for less than an hour, and imagine how much more I’ll do tomorrow.

ironskymaker [12:17AM] The girl in the mirror just wants to keep edging and bouncing and dropping forever, and so do you. Bounce, drop.

goonette4everr [12:17AM] please ruinmy brain mroe

goonette4everr [12:18AM] hheeehee she looksh crazi

goonette4everr [12:18AM] sush a mess!

ironskymaker [12:19AM] And how are you feeling now, lil goonette?

goonette4everr [12:21AM] alll edged out, reallly hazy

ironskymaker [12:22AM] Good goonette. Bedtime, then, and no touching until the morning.

goonette4everr [12:23AM] ohh fuck  yessir please tomorrow 

goonette4everr [12:23AM] i can’t wait

@goonedoutdropout

[chiyune]

whoa my hand slipped what happened

[comfortless]

Deep Water

nix! König x fem! reader

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. no.. intentional harm done to reader but there are sporadic mentions of murder (drowning), König is kind of a creep here do you guys forgive me (say yes), implied sex; dubcon everything. König is wearing a fishing net rather than the usual hood because. it made sense to me sorry.

notes: yet again, i have found that i can not manage to write anything except for silly fantasy nonsense… bear with me this will pass (it will not). if you’re uncertain of what a nix is, i recommend skimming over this (or tl;dr— a shapeshifting water spirit).

You’ve always been told to beware of the river, especially on nights like this. When the singing starts up you were to run, as far and as fast as your feet could carry you. It would be the most beautiful sound you had ever heard, as well as the last. Whatever beast lies in wait along the silt of the riverbed luring people in with its haunting song isn’t kind. The drowned bodies resurfacing bloated and paled are enough for the townsfolk to assume that assuredly, a monster lies in wait someplace within the glassy water.

For all of the fear, town myths were just that— myths.

As always, there’s no singing when you seat yourself on smooth, mossy stones by the river’s bank. The moon hangs low, casting its brilliant reflection on calm, dark water. The air is alive with the buzzing of cicadas clinging to the trees at your back and night birds calling out to the wind. Nothing is amiss; it’s only peaceful, and that’s why despite the warnings, you often find yourself here when the temperature is favorable.

There are nights when the river isn’t calm, and currents are the most reliable reasoning for the deaths from past summers. The water is full of large rocks with sharp corners, teeming with plants that could so easily snare an ankle, and when the water is frothing and cruel it’s no surprise that one could be thrashed to unconsciousness if they weren’t careful.

You didn’t come here to take your chances on swimming, anyhow.

If anything, it’s a mere reprieve from the bustle of the town. No one wanders here any more since the myths gained traction, passed from mouth to listening ears time and time again, leaving this place entirely untouched. Occasionally the obnoxious teenager would cross your path on the walk here, declaring loudly to their friends about how they supposedly saw some slimy beast, eyes like moonbeams and scales like razors lying on the bank.

During your little adventures here, you often carry a snack with you, but not for yourself. Tonight, it’s just a small package of vanilla flavored cookies. In truth, they were awful— dry and near flavorless, but you suspect your friend here wouldn’t mind too terribly much, and if it got them out of your pantry without wasting it was a win for the both of you.

When the large dorsal fin crests over the water mere meters from the bank, you gratuitously crush the treats in a closed fist and toss the crumbs into the water. Time and time again, you’ve fed the large animal, watching as it thrashes about just below the surface before disappearing back into its depths. You’ve never gotten a good look at it, either, but you imagine it must stretch out past your height or further; some sort of gar or sturgeon.

Just as many times before, it glides further in, fin entirely out of sight now. The only evidence of it ever appearing at all were the small waves rippling in its wake. All is quieted once more as you embrace the placid bliss, readying your small flashlight and losing yourself into the book perched in your lap.

The next night, you’re greeted by a large snake basking over the rock you typically sat upon. It lies still, coiled into itself as it regards you, forked tongue flicking out for several moments before it simply slithers off, hiding itself away beneath the moss and stone.

“Best to leave you alone, huh?,” you ask to it’s retreating tail, feeling a bit silly for speaking to the reptile at all. It doesn’t respond, of course, nor does it bother to come out of hiding either.

You opt to seat yourself on the hill overlooking the water instead.

You find that after a day occupied by tedious tasks, there truly was no greater place to abandon your woes than here. Everything was peaceful; wild yet simplistic. Even with all of the death that seemed to haunt this place, you never feared the thought of ghosts. You’ve even entertained your imagination a time or two, that if you ever did meet one, you would only ask it not to disturb the wildlife you have grown so fond.

There’s a freedom and a mystery to places like this, places without the foot traffic of other people. It brings with it a sense of whimsy, especially when you glance towards the water and see the surface reflecting every twinkling star above.

The fish doesn’t appear, even as you listen to the water in wait, your head tilted as you lie back on soft grass to watch for ripples, for the swell of a large fin moving beneath. Nothing. You read your book as the night progresses, nearly completing it entirely before you make your way back home.

Weeks pass by like this— work, river, home and repeat. Occasionally it’s the same large snake that greets you when you wander there, more often it’s the large fish circling about waiting for crumbs of whatever treat you choose to bring. The bank and the small hill overlooking it have become a separate home to you, one where you can be away with the fairies, talking to your animal friends that never seem to stick around for long.

When the weather grows warmer, you even dare to take a swim.

You’re stood on the slick stones of the bank, wearing nothing but a t-shirt and a pair of underwear. It’s not proper swimming attire, but you reason that you’re not at the beach, not a soul is around, and it doesn’t really matter at all that you might look a bit silly. The prospect of swimming along that behemoth below is a tad terrifying, but you wouldn’t dare to wander too far in. Maybe the fish would even be intelligent enough to not attempt to eat you after you’ve been so kind to it.

It’s hot, and with a sticky layer of sweat glossing your skin, your worries seem minuscule in light of an easy way of cooling off. You toe at the calm water for a moment, testing its temperature before willing yourself to take a step forward, then another before you seat yourself in the vibrant expanse of darkened blue. Here, you realize, is the best place to stargaze, too; they shimmer all around you, within reach as you tap at the surface of water, watching it undulate beneath the pressure of your fingertips.

You could reach the moon, too, if you swam further out. A few meters from the bank and you would be directly beneath its reflection, bathed in that ethereal glow.

You watch for your friend for a time, trying to prioritize your wariness over your whimsy. When the fish doesn’t tread by you, the water remaining calm, you rise to your feet and take slow, metered steps as the water parts and flows against your shins.

Though the river is disturbed no matter how gently you stride forward, nothing slides out from its depths in pursuit of you. Nothing happens at all when you reach out to splay your hand out against the reflection, the water now gently lapping against your stomach rather than your legs.

You hadn’t expected any sort of shift in your reality, that would be ridiculous, but perhaps some sort of clarity; a further calm for a weary mind. It doesn’t come, and with a disheartened splash you wade your way back towards the shore.

This has been your sanctuary for some time. Excusing the snake, there’s not been any sort of threat to you, not here. A safe water world all your own. Though, that peace is shattered the moment that you make it to the bank and hear the water shift some small distance behind you. Turning your head, you’re met with the sight of a man, the bulky muscular silhouette towering in the patch of moonlight you had just stood in. Bright blue eyes catch the light, reflecting like an animal’s as you scramble back to where you’ve left your shorts.

He stands there, silent and unmoving like an obelisk even as you hastily dress yourself with a thundering heart and breaths that sound more or less like gasps, senses heightened by your panic as you turn tail to run.

No one had been there. You were sure of it when you sunk into the water. There was no sound when this person had swam over to take your place. He was just there, as if he had been the entire time and you somehow failed to notice.

You make your way into the woods framing this place, hurried steps and untied shoelaces. You don’t even bother with your flashlight.

Finding your way back home with aches in every muscle, the desperate rampage you had taken to get away finally coming to a close when the door slams shut behind you, you quickly shower and mull over what’s just happened. A ghost, perhaps. It had to of been. Any other person would have made noise in their approach, especially being that big. The mind could play its tricks; what you had seen was likely not even there at all— a terrifying figment of your imagination. That sets you at ease, somewhat, but not enough.

You don’t sleep well that night, tucked beneath your blanket and staring at the filtered moonlight through your curtains. Work isn’t on your mind at all come morning until your phone chimes with a notification from your manager, questioning your tardiness. A languid crawl out of bed follows, another shower, an unsatisfying breakfast, all before you opt to send a text back to let him know you won’t be in today.

It could be excused, you’re reliable and decent enough at the job; not one to boast, but far more eager to please than the rest of your coworkers. You would be entirely useless if you went in on no sleep, you reason.

You don’t want to go back there, not under the veil of night, but you find yourself horribly curious the longer that you bide your time indoors. You had to know if the thing that you saw was really there, had to calm your nerves. What if he had always been watching each time, and you simply hadn’t noticed? The forest bordering the river is terribly dark at night, anyone could crouch behind the shield of a tree and remain undetected until they willed the courage to drag you in, cup a palm over your mouth to silence your cries.

Maybe it was the monster the people in town rumored about.

The thought of some strange, silent thing living beneath the water waiting for an opportune moment to take you by the neck and drag you down to the silty floor to watch you drown horrified you. Yet, that’s the one conclusion that sticks. Those eyes… so lurid and haunting, no human being had eyes like that.

You inhale sharply, steeling your nerves as reach for a pocket knife for defense, toss it into the bag slung over your shoulder, and storm out the door.

The trek there is nothing short of dull.

No matter where you look, what shadows rise up beneath the dim glow of a falling sun, there’s nothing out in the woods. The river is equally tame. The water babbles over rock, cicadas buzz off in the distance, and not a thing seems amiss. Your search for footprints that don’t belong to the soles of your shoes turns up empty. The only thing that suggests just maybe it wasn’t all in your head is the book you had neglected to retrieve in your fear the night before.

The cover, every page within, now warped as though it had been pulled into the water and spit out to dry. You pick it up, peeling through damp pages, running your fingertips over the smeared ink. It’s possible that a particularly aggressive splash could have sullied it, but something tells you that that isn’t the case. Either way, it’s unreadable now. You sulk a bit as you slip the ruined thing into your bag and step towards the smooth stones to watch the water instead.

Night creeps in slowly with you there, and you’re on high alert for a time before you begin to relax as usual. Even giggle to yourself at how silly it was you believed you saw a ghost at all as you entertain yourself by skipping small stones across the water.

No large snake, no massive fish, no titan of a man appears before you, only a calming crescent moon and a few wandering wood ducks, gliding down from the bank to splash about. A thought comes to mind as the calm emboldens you: what would happen if you got in just one more time?

There’s nothing to suggest that you’re playing with fire as you leave your shoes neatly in the dry sand. If the ducks could swim unbothered by fish or men, then surely you could, too. You watch the little creatures a distance away as they dip their heads beneath the surface and chitter away amongst themselves while you take your first step in.

You don’t dare to go as far this time, stopping when the water brushes over your knees. You wait there while time seems to slow to a crawl, expecting the absolute worst, glancing further down the river, dipping your hand below the glassy surface until your fingertips brush the sand beneath.

It’s horribly hot and you’re still exhausted from the sleepless night before. The water feels nice, and you feel as though you have some sort of claim to it as you’ve been here more often than anyone else would dare to. Ghosts and monsters be damned, you seat yourself and let the water lap over your shoulders, tilting your head back to watch the stars.

When the singing begins it takes a moment to register just what it is that you’re hearing. It’s not beautiful, not like the myths have said. It’s hissed, a low whisper, a mockery of what a human song would sound like. The voice is rasped, lilted yet cold. The realization that it sings words from your book of poetry is what terrifies you the most, the warped pages all making sense now.

Your eyes dart to either side of you, forward, before realizing the voice is coming from behind you. Cold spreads through your veins as you try to force yourself to stand, but in your fear you find yourself petrified, rooted in water that would surely become your grave.

You can’t bring yourself to turn around, to inevitably find your eyes locked onto the shadowy frame of a man far too large, his eyes glistening and pale like the moon hanging above.

The voice pauses when it finds you unmoving, and you can hear the rustle of the creature shifting its weight where it’s stood on the rocks lining the bank. You’ve no clue how deep the river gets, where the opposite side leads, but your only chance of escape seems to be swimming through in the hopes that this thing doesn’t choose to chase after you. A part of you knows that he would, that that is exactly what he expects you to do, goading you to flee deeper with his eerie song so that he can drown you just as he did the others.

You do the opposite as you squeeze your eyes shut and crawl back towards the bank, making sure to keep some distance despite your willful blindness. You wouldn’t look at it, wouldn’t talk to it, you would just go home and never come back.

“Best to leave you alone, hm?”

You still as your fingers brush against wet moss, the voice no longer a whisper but loud, loud as it echoes your words from days past just above you. Beating back your own curiosity proves futile, because you look up at the damned thing then, expecting to see an impossible terror before you, sharp fangs wet with blood and appendages too spindly reaching out for you. Instead, you see only a man.

He’s crouched, only a meter or so away, and you immediately recognize his broad figure. The same as the night before. From this distance you can make out the finer details, the length of net covering his face and neck, the webbing between each finger. Still a scary sight, but only in the way it’s unfamiliar and imposing rather than instilling any sort of primordial fear.

“Excuse me?” You pull yourself fully out of the water, rising to your feet and taking a tentative step back. You’re prepared to run, a coil pulled too tight on the verge of snapping.

The man, creature, whatever he may be just tilts his head, lets the silence hang in the air for a moment before he has the audacity to laugh whether to himself or at the strange, bewildered expression on your face.

His stare is assessing as he sucks in a breath, follows suit in rising to his full height. From the size of him alone, you know you’re not getting away. A mere stride for him would be two or more for you, a deliberate tug of your wrist from him could snap it in an instant.

Yet, he doesn’t reach for you, only gestures toward your bag lying on the ground with a subtle flick of a finger. You give him a quizzical glance in turn, not bothering to retrieve it. You could come back during the day with a friend, gather it and never return. Only, your knife sits somewhere inside, the only protection that you’ve got. The realization spurs you to bend over and toss the strap over your shoulder.

“I’ll… I’ll be going now.”

The stare remains fixed upon you as you take another step back, blinking slowly every now and then as you both remain in some strange stasis.

It takes you a moment to put the pieces together. The reciting of words from the book, the mimicking of the words spoken to the snake, the hint at your bag… he’s expecting something and it’s not to steal away your life, only to be fed and have your company. It’s not charming, it’s awfully strange and eerie, but you find yourself giggling at the prospect of taming some murderous, shapeshifting monster with subpar treats and poetry.

You pull open the bag, searching for anything you may have brought along that he could eat, eventually prying out a small package and offering it out to him.

“Is this what you want?,” you ask, voice hushed and trembling.

He shakes his head, rustling the net cloaking him in the process. So, he understands, he’s just been willfully ignoring every other thing you’ve said prior. You store the package away with a perturbed expression crossing over your face.

“Then what?”

Any relief you had felt seems to dwindle when the giant takes a half-step closer. His skin is cool and wet as the river as he brushes his hand over your forearm, curling a set of fingers around it. The touch is gentle, but there’s a promise of violence lurking somewhere in the depths of his eyes.

“Come with me,” he urges in that harsh whisper from before, delicately squeezing as he pulls you towards him, leading you back to the river with a tight grip and a step back over the stones. Though his touch is passive, there’s a frightening strength lurking someplace beneath his flesh, tacked to bone, and as your gaze trails lower to rest to rest at your feet, the space between you two, the evidence of a life prone to violence and strength is laid bare before you.

You don’t fight the hold as he leads you to water so deep it caresses the base of your neck, right below the milky glow of a waning moon. Deeper still, as you’re pulled below, pressed down to the very bottom with his body lain over you. You can only hold your breath so long before an involuntary gasp leaves you, and a wave is funneled straight into your lungs.

Panic is fleeting, but the adrenaline stays ever-present. You claw, push, kick, to no avail. Pinned down by a hand weighing like an anchor you feel your vision flooding and hazy as his head knocks against your jaw, mouth sealing tightly over yours. It’s not a gentle kiss, the net fashioned into a hood digs into your skin, teeth scrape over your lip until you feel the sting of blood drawn.

All at once, your vision darkens and it’s over.

You find yourself lying back on the shore as the morning sun warms your face, causes your dampened shirt to cling to your skin. Disoriented, but alive, brushing your thumb over your lower lip as you sit up to stare at the subtle waves lapping over moss and rock.

Just a dream, you tell yourself, knowing full well you hadn’t fallen asleep.

Just a dream, even though you avoid the river entirely now. Your route home from work changes too, avoiding even a glimpse of the path that leads down to that place. You don’t even replace the book, you toss what remains of it after fishing through your bag, murmuring something about it surely being cursed and entertain yourself with film at night instead.

Sleep remains tentative, you wake with every sound, and your dreaming is filled with visions of a figure pushing you down into deep water, his weight bearing down upon you so heavily that you can not move until you wake with a start, eyes searching your bedroom.

Several weeks, and the fear does eventually fade.

The morning that the rain begins to fall, you realize you haven’t even thought about the river in days. There’s no monster prowling your nightmares anymore. You lived through what may or may not have occurred, and that was the end of it, simple as it may have been.

A late shift at work has you wandering out into the rain, umbrella in hand. You’re grateful that you live close, that you’re not entirely soaked to the bone when you step inside of the mundane building. Your coworkers notice your change in demeanor immediately, chirping about how glad they are that you’re finally feeling better, looking more yourself as the hours pass you by. It brings a smile to your face, a real one that you haven’t had in place since that last night.

Even in the summer, there’s a chill to the air in the late afternoon as you hurry home from work and make your way inside, stripping out of your wet clothes and setting your umbrella aside. It’s darker outside than it should be, even more so indoors. Reaching for the switch to turn on the lights proves useless— the power’s out.

You light your way with your phone, ignoring the way your pulse quickens and your heart flutters with the fear that something just doesn’t feel right. Your skin prickles with the thought of some unseen pair of eyes watching you, blue and cold. You only relax when you slam your bedroom door shut, locking it and pressing your forehead to the wood as you sigh. The puff of breath that escapes your lips is not the only in the room, you find out when the light of your phone illuminated your bed. Crouched beside it, a towering figure with a face veiled by fishing net. Words don’t come when you open your mouth to speak, and your heart stutters in your chest as you stand shaking but otherwise petrified.

“You didn’t come back.”

Of course you hadn’t.

Most people wouldn’t have.

“No. I’ve been… busy,” you choke out the excuse, hoping to pacify whatever emotion you imagine lurked beneath his tone, undetectable through the hiss of his voice. “I’ll visit soon, promise,” you lie, back pressed against the door as your fingers curl over the knob.

Your fear seems almost unwarranted. He doesn’t move toward you, only stands to wander back to the window where he must have broken in.

“Tonight?,” he asks in a voice so soft, the voice he must use as a lure because tugs at your heartstrings immediately, makes you want to follow despite the threat this thing poses merely by existing, despite everything.

“It’s cold— I’ll get sick,” you murmur. “How did you even find me..?”

“I will keep you warm.” The question goes unanswered.

You find yourself stifled again as he lumbers towards you, brushing cold fingers across the side of your face. It’s not a mockery of a kiss you receive next but a firm bite where your neck meets shoulder, not yet hard enough to draw blood, but enough to make you shiver, to grip at the wall of muscle that makes up his chest.

There’s a desperation to his movements as he herds you towards the window, pushes you toward the path leading back to the river. You’re soaked to the bone in seconds, hardly able to keep your eyes open past the weight of dampened eyelashes. The rain is so heavy it feels as though every step is like the first you took into cursed water, your feet sinking into the mud along the path with each tentative stride. The realization that you’re there doesn’t even hit you until you’re chest-deep in the chill, violent waves pushing against you, each carrying the threat of toppling you over entirely.

The palm splayed out against your bare back keeps you upright, leading you to a smooth rock jutting out in the midst of what seems a sea of frothing white and blue. The sea above is just as dark, angry clouds roaring as you’re pressed down onto your back, shivering terribly.

He keeps his promise though, a tight grip on each thigh as he pries your legs apart, sinks in between them and blankets you from the rain. Even with the cold pressed to your back, you feel the warmth of a summer sun above you, scorching from inside, just as blazing as the look in his wild eyes. The last of any resolve slips when you’re pulled beneath the violent waves, a tangle of limbs and desperate kisses coaxing oxygen into your lungs. Each roll and pull no less tumultuous than the waves overhead. A placid end when the rain comes to an impromptu halt, just as he stills over you. Hands rush to cup your face with one final, desperate and biting kiss.

When the morning sun pulls you from sleep, cool moss against your back and the weight of his head resting over your middle, the shallow water lapping lazily at your figure, you find that you no longer fear drowning.