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I literally just got back from the stripclub and first thing I think of is to get this story down for you fine gentlemen.
I will provide background information where relevant, including the norms of the particular stripclub.
I've been into dominant women in general for a long time, and I've been into the fantasy of findom, but have never done it. Mostly because I have no interest in trying to make it happen over the internet, and it seems as if that's really the only place you can do it. But if I ever happened across a woman in real life that is into it? I could do it.
So, I've been giving strippers a second thought. I know, strippers aren't really findom, they just charge a lot for their services. But this was different.
Now I'm not a regular at stripclubs or anything. I'll go to them about twice a year on average, just to have some tits in my face. But I recently started thinking, hey, wait a minute, strippers love money, that's what they're there for. What if I got into findom with a stripper? And so this was the second time in a month I went to my stripclub, and it happened. Here's how it went down:
I sat at a table. Girls dancing on three stages. This place is topless only, so tits out, g-strings on. I order a beer. In a short time, a woman walks up to me and introduces herself. She sits down, we chat for like a minute, but I'm no stranger to these things, I know what I want, so I just ask for a dance, she says sure and we get up.
Her looks: Average height, fairly petite, absolutely perfect natural tits, with HUGE nipples. Just amazing nipples. If you like big nipples, this would be your girl. She had long blonde hair down to her tailbone.
So we go into the private room. It's small and dark. Total privacy, it's not one of those big open lap dance rooms. She gets on me, grinding, normal lap dance.
The style of lap dance at this club: Tops off, bottoms on, HEAVY touching. The girls grind on your dick, and will appreciate you having a hard on too and they target it like a Hunter Killer robot. Also, the cost is 20 dollars per song (HEYO that's already findom, am I right?) So 5 songs, about 25 minutes of grinding, would cost about 100 bucks.
Sometimes dancers will start jerking you off through your pants, sometimes they don't. This girl started doing so. Boner laid out along the thigh, hand wrapping as much as it can around it over the pants and stroking.
A couple songs go by, her perfect tits are in my face, she seems real cool, I shoot for it, I ask "Can I suck on them?"
Background: If the vibe is good and relaxed, sometimes I'll ask that. 50% of the time they're totally okay and say "sure" and shove their nipple in my mouth. The other 50% they'll say no sorry and I'm like no biggie it's all good.
She says, "for 500 dollars."
Right there, my heart leaps in my chest. No fucking way should that cost 500 bucks. She just doesn't want it to happen and this is a polite way of rejecting me. I kinda laugh it off and say "that's okay, a little rich for me."
Anyway, she's grinding, hand working, tits in my hands. The atmosphere is very calm and intimate, voices low. She brings it up again. Asks for 500 bucks. In a very alluring way. I am now already in a sub space. I politely refuse.
I know what you're thinking. This isn't findom, this is just a stripper trying to milk a dumb customer for an easy extra.
But things come around.
In the silence that follows, I dare a statement: "But I like how you keep asking."
She looks at me. A bit caught off guard herself. She says "hmm?"
We look at each other. "I like assertive women. Aggressive women."
I think it clicks in her head, then. She knows what I am. She grinds more, keeping the pace up hard. She asks for 500 again, naturally.
I say, "all I have is 200 in my wallet". This is a lie, I have about 250, but I'm sandbagging her cause my mind is spinning. Also, I only ever mean to spend a max of 100. Just me saying I have 200 is a rush.
She says, "go to the atm and get more money out."
My brain is going wild now. I say it. "You can take everything in my wallet."
"200 dollars?"
"Yeah."
We're both feeling a lot more free at this point. Gently, while her right hand is stroking me through my pants, I take her left hand, and place it on my neck. She immediately knows what to do, like an instinctual animal. She squeezes, starts choking me while grinding. Pushes my head hard back against the wall. She's not gentle, she does it nice and hard.
Then she just keeps it up. Tells me she wants me to go to the atm and get more money. I'm strong though. She says do it for your "Goddess 'insert stripper name'". She definitely knows what I am now. She has officially taken on the role of dominatrix.
"I have 250 in my wallet," I say, spilling the beans. It was an absolute rush.
"Give it to me."
We go back and forth, and she knows the lingo. I almost busted a nut right there but didn't. In the end, we do our final song, she stands up. Time to pay. I wanted to do it nice and paypig style, so I open my wallet and hand her the bills, counting it out to 250.
"Thank your Goddess for taking all of your money," she says.
I thank her, in a daze.
"Are you coming next week?" she asks.
"Yes," I say.
"Good, and next time there will be punishments for not doing everything I say."
We make arrangements and I leave.
All in all, we did maybe 5 songs. So it normally would have cost 100 bucks, so I basically paid a surcharge of 150 for her to indulge this kink.
And memories last forever.
Well guys, should I go back next week? I'm not a poor guy but I'm not a rich guy either. There's no way I could ever sustain this, but as a short term life experience, I feel like I have to, don't I? It was sort of a fantasy come true for me.

I want to play my quest 3 outside with mixed reality but i dont want to be “the weird guy” in my culdesac. Big flat open circle with fairly minimal traffic. Its just itll have that center stage feeling with all my neighbors being able to look at me through their windows as i dance around in the street with a camera strapped to my face. We all know we dont look as cool as we feel when were playing. Not to mention im a 6’ 320 lbs (looks like 280 lbs) black guy with dreads to my chest. Ill be trending on tiktok or instagram with a caption that says something like “this is our future” or “DUMBASS” in no time 😂😂😂.
I played at the park one time away from everyone else but people seemed to slowly migrate around me with their phones out. I was playing thrill of the fight and racket club in mixed reality. I let them know that i could see them too by waving and saying hey especially when a little dog kept running laps around me. We should normalize vr outside.

When i was a teenager i had a year period where i want off the rails i slept with an escort twice i had a couple of happy ending massages and i had a couple of lap dances. I told my GF that i have done pretty much everything when it comes to my sexual history i didn't explicitly talk about these experiences. But i did come forward and tell her that when i was 17/18 i tried paying for sex and its not something i look to do again and i do regret it. is it deceitful or did i say too much

tl;dr i told my gf about my sexual history im wondering if i said too much or if what i have said is appropriate
When i was a teenager i had a year period where i want off the rails i slept with an escort twice i had a couple of happy ending massages and i had a couple of lap dances. I told my GF that i have done pretty much everything when it comes to my sexual history i didn't explicitly talk about these experiences. But i did come forward and tell her that when i was 17/18 i tried paying for sex and its not something i look to do again and i do regret it. Am i wrong for not saying how many times is it deceitful or did i say too much

When i was a teenager i had a year period where i want off the rails i slept with an escort twice i had a couple of happy ending massages and i had a couple of lap dances. I told my GF that i have done pretty much everything when it comes to my sexual history i didn't explicitly talk about these experiences. But i did come forward and tell her that when i was 17/18 i tried paying for sex and its not something i look to do again and i do regret it. Am i wrong for not saying how many times is it deceitful or did i say too much

What the title says.
Basically, I've been crushing hard on this girl who I'll call R that I met one day by chance due to our paths colliding. I remember one day about 2 months or so ago I saw her and 4 others talking outside one of the study rooms in the library. I had just finished meeting with the board games club I was in so I decided to approach the group since I had never seen them and because this girl made my heart skip a beat when I saw her for the first time.
Anyway, I approach them and discovered that they were a pre-med fraternity and then we all kinda shared our majors and such and had a nice round of small talk. I tell them that I'm majoring in Geography with a concentration and minoring in economics with the hope of eventually being an urban planner or ecological consultant and they all think it is cool and then, one of the pre med people says they're majoring on biochemistry and I make the joke that he's going to end up polluting or contaminating the city I work for or smth like that which ends making the whole group laugh, including R and she generally seems to enjoy my presence albeit in a non romantic way since... we had just met so I wasn't too deeply into her other than thinking ahe was pretty.
Anyway, I had to leave due to unrelated reasons and I left feeling good since I had just met some new people and because I made R laugh. Some time passes and even though I continue my life and such and I generally move on but for some reason in my unconscious mind whenever I pictured the scenario of having a loving gf, I would always picture R as being my lover which confused me since we had barely met. Anyway, after some time, I sort of admitted that I liked her and I look up the fraternity she's in and found R and some stuff about her via the fraternity's instagram and, on the advice of my cousin, I email the fraternity if they'd want to do a joint meeting with the board games club as like a fun stress relief activity since my cousin explained that when she was in college she would invite groups over for joint meetings with the clubs she was in.
Anyway, When im reading the stuff on insta, my minds going like "what the fuck, she's so similar to me" since she's majoring in public health and minoring in sociology which while those are different from what I'm studying exactly, they're pretty similar and we would have a lot to talk about if we ever went on a date since our interests seemed to align. I also discover via the same post actually that, like me, she likes her field since it gives her the chance to learn new things all the time, which is something I also think about my field, hobbies and life in general. Anyway, ik it may be weird but I felt like we were really similar people in terms of values and shit like that which, combined with her being absolutely stunning, made me begin to really like her. Anyway, I later looked up her name out of curiosity and discovered via her LinkedIn and a post my university made about her and some other pre med people and I discover that... like me, she also wants to eventually work internationally, wants to help others, and wants ti use her discipline to teach members of the public about her field to help make the world a better place. I remember after that I took my family's dog for a walk and I was just kind of emotionally paralyzed and repeating the phrase "what the fuck" in my head over and over since I wasn't expecting her to be that similar to me.
Later on, I also discovered via the same insta post as before that, as a hobby, R is also part of a Bollywood dance group at our college which, while I'm not particularly interested in dance or that style of music, is still a green flag for me since, as my joined subreddits and some posts of mine suggest, I'm an avid drummer and love to listen to and play music and even though my favorite styles are more prog and groove based stuff like jazz, djent, funk, progressive metal, fusion, latin music, samba, kletzmer(I'm also jewish and have fond memories of hearing that music when I was younger) and a pinch of Indian classical music, I can still very much use our hobbies relating to music as a fun conversation starter.
After I sent the email to the medical frat, some more time goes by and one of the members responds to me and says that the frat is doing a games thing at a local coffee shop. When I found that out, I just about jumped for joy since I thought R would be there since she was important in the frat. Anyway, I go there and she isn't there due to coincidence and whatever and I still have fun but I'm also on the verge of tears because I had been looking forward to getting the chance to talk to her in a low-key, friendly way to see where it would go.
After that, about a week passes and I'm talking about this whole thing with my therapist and how the unknown aspect of it was bothering me and she suggested that I email the person who invited to the games thing and see if him, R and others would want to hang out once finals were over and kind of see where it goes with R and because of this, I emailed the person who invited me out and now here we are.
I know my story's long but I just really adore this person so I remember even the small details of our interactions, learning about her and finding ways to meet her again but anyway, it's gushing time!
She's soooooo fucking pretty!!!!! She has this beautiful jet black hair that perfectly compliments her beautiful brown eyes and her smile could make the Mariana trench look like a disco club since it is so radiant and lovely😍. She's also sooo intelligent and I absolutely love her values and the way she wants to make the world better and help people❤️ I also can't help but marvel at how driven she is as a person too since I can relate and because I've always liked women who are intelligent and independent❤️ Lastly, she also seems like such a nice person since she was so easy to talk to during our first interaction and I just imagine us talking for hours🥰
In terms of imagining her and I and my dreams with this, I always imagine us just enjoying each other's company, us going to each other's events to support one another, us supporting each other through tough times, us communicating openly and honestly and being the type of couple who always talks things out and never goes to bed angry since we're nearly always able to work past our problems in a diplomatic way that works for both of us equally, me laying my head on her lap or vice versa while we watch movies and such, us just enjoying each other's company, her laying her head on my chest or vice versa, us doing it(this is reddit lol), and us generally just being an egalitarian, honest, communication based and happy couple😍😍😍

MY $11,000.00 DREAM PALACE NIGHTMARE!!!! Part 2
815 N Scottsdale rd Tempe AZ
This establishment is a complete joke !! Reading the values, you could tell that there’s almost no happy customers !
I myself went in there with a few buddy’s about a month ago and we went around 8pm it was such a joke we ware the only guys there .. also there was no stage going on they said they don’t do stage till after midnight!! So we all decided to go back to the vip rooms payed $60 for a room and the girls want at least $500 to do a basic 20 min lap dance only topless mind you at a supposedly fully nude club.. Then only after seven minutes of dancing, another girl comes into the room and offers to join, but you have to give her another $500 they insist that doing this will make you sure an even better experience, but even after being 1000 and $600 into it still I’ve never seen a fully naked woman only titties like a topless bar!! My friends shared the same experience and had paid even more most of them up to $3000 apiece!! During the day no matter what you pay you get the same experience!!
After a week went by and the weekend came me, and my friends decided to go again, but this time when they said there would be stage after midnight!!
We go in Friday around 12:30 PM and it’s $20 at the door just to get in once again. There is no stage going on!!
They tried to pull us into the VIP at first we said no we wanted to hang out on the floor for a while. Maybe get some lap dances. Lap dances were $40 most expensive lap dance in the entire valley of Arizona and it was just a quick topless one no touching air. So what they call a lap dance is actually an Airdance.
After sitting out there for an hour waiting for stage to happen, I finally began couple girls got up on stage and they danced around topless once again there’s no nudity unless you go VIP at least that’s what they said! So we all attempted to go back to VIP once again this time night shift!
So they tried to tie in the room price and the dancers price together. They had like three options 500 so they tried to tie in the room price and the dancers price together. They had like three options 600$-2500$ or 5000$ thinking it can’t possibly be worse than dayshift. It has to be better. I mean their $40 lap dance was essentially what we had gotten during the dayshift the week before and we paid over 1000. So we each agreed to do $3000 each once again after about 7 to 10 minutes of dancing, only topless, barely touching they begin to ask for more money and send in another girl to also ask for her own tip of 5000$ my buddy stopped at 3000 but I decided to go for the four 5000 the most that you can spend there seeing what it can actually do!! Surprise surprise, the girls are still mostly topless the whole time they just decided to take me into a bigger room give me more time give me nonalcoholic beer and try to whip me with a belt I paid for and I got two topless girls to smack me around .. after saying I wasn’t into the whole belt thing and I just wanted nude dancers. They said I’d have to pay even more for them to be completely nude another 5000 each. I said that’s absolutely not happening and then after time I went to discuss with the manager what happened? Mr ( David Kozinski.) He said that there wasn’t anything that he could do and I could take it up with corporate that the girls did their dance and I said no I was promised a full new dance and all I got was a couple of topless. Girls said I was out of line and I couldn’t get a refund. I said I don’t understand why you run a fully nude club. Why don’t you just call the topless club And he got upset and my face honestly, I think this guy is on drugs like hard drugs like crack or cocaine or speed or something because he seemed awfully wired skinny guy older maybe in his late 50s!!
He didn’t have much respect for anybody even the dancers as a dancers came up and tried to apologize for the situation he told him to leave and you go to the back. It just seemed completely unprofessional and rude so I strongly recommend if you’re looking for a good time with your buddies, and you are willing to spend money, any other club in the valley your money would go away further and don’t go to Dream Palace no matter how much you pay or just getting a lap dance topless!!

I’m so glad this sub exists because I’ve been annoying everyone in my life with my theories about these two … I figured this would be the right place to post my speculation/lyric breakdowns of songs that they may have written about each other, split into different posts for albums for ease of reading.
Starting with Reputation (2017) – I imagine the failed relationship with Matty was still fresh for Taylor during the writing/recording of this album. Her reference to her “longings locked in lowercase inside a vault” definitely made me look back at Rep in a way I hadn’t before (and I do think we’ll see some Matty-coded vault tracks on TV”. That said I don’t want to erase her other relationships, especially with Joe, so I’ll make notes of where I think I’m either stretching for a Matty connection or I think there are multiple muses.
Special mention to “Getaway Car” which feels like another (fictionalized?) response to Robbers but the story she tells is very similar to her fling with Tom, especially given the third man in the song. I usually claim it for the maylors anyway bc who cares about Tom. Let me know what you think.
“...Ready For It?”
Knew he was a killer first time that I saw him / Wonder how many girls he had loved and left haunted / But if he's a ghost, then I can be a phantom
I can't ignore the connections here to two other songs thought to be written about M - Ghost (2014) and Haunted (2015) by Halsey (I won't bother going into the HalseyMatty lore here but I could in another post...)
"You're a Rolling Stone boy, never-sleep-alone boy / Got a million numbers and they're filling up your phone, boy" (Ghost) "I'm begging you to keep on haunting me" (Haunted) "My ghost / Where'd you go? / I can't find you in the body sleeping next to me" (Ghost)
I can be a phantom holdin' him for ransom / Knew I was a robber first time that he saw me / Stealing hearts and running off and never saying sorry / But if I'm a thief, then he can join the heist / And he can be my jailer
Robbers is one of The 1975’s most famous songs. In the music video two lovers stick up a convenience store - definitely worth a watch if you haven't seen it. In 2014 M dedicated the song to T in Dallas in November 2017 (a week after she attended the concert in LA) here and here
Burton to this Taylor
One of my favorite references that I think reveals a lot about the messy but irresistible relationship M and T seem to have. Here's a link to a great article about the wild love affair between Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton.
Every love I've known in comparison is a failure / I forget their names now, I'm so very tame now / Never be the same now
This sentiment is repeated throughout many of the songs I believe are about M. The idea of a life altering love is obviously prevalent across TTPD but also in folklore, evermore, and Midnights. ex. "I'm never gonna love again" (cowboy like me), "I don't remember who I was before you painted all my nights a color I have searched for since" (Question...?), "I felt aglow like this / Never before and never since" (loml)
Also want to mention This Must Be My Dream from 2016, which M has said is about an older gf but may fit: "Let me tell you 'bout this girl / I thought she'd rearrange my world"
No one has to know / In the middle of the night, in my dreams / You should see the things we do, baby
See Guilty as Sin? lol
Baby, let the games begin
Taylor in an interview with Glamour in February 2014:
TS: [Nods. Pauses.] I think everyone should approach relationships from the perspective of playing it straight and giving someone the benefit of the doubt. Until he establishes that this is a game. And if it's a game, you need to win. The best thing to do is just walk away from the table.
CL: Is that winning?
TS: It is when they come back. [Laughs.] And if they don't, then they didn't care enough to begin with.
conclusion: I believe ...Ready For It? is a response to Robbers and reveals M and T's similar romanticism (sometimes toxic but so addicting). The mirrored stylization of ...Ready For It? and Question...? makes me think the latter is a continuation of the former. The mentions of “island breeze” and “we’ll move to an island” have made people believe this song is about Tom Hiddleston but other lyrics, namely “younger than my exes” pretty clearly contradicts that.
"End Game"
I wanna be your end game / I wanna be your first string /I wanna be your A-Team
Funny reading this after The Alchemy and So High School.
Big reputation, big reputation / Ooh, you and me, we got big reputations / And you heard about me / Ooh, you and me would be a big conversation
And they were! Especially because T hadn't been really linked to anyone after Harry, the speculation about her and M came hard and fast. M especially was inundated with questions in the months after the LA and NYC shows.
And I heard about you / You like the bad ones, too
Another possible reference to a Halsey song, this time Hurricane from 2014: "He says, "Oh, baby, beggin' you to save me / Well, lately I like 'em crazy/ Oh, maybe, you could devastate me"
I don't wanna touch you, I don't wanna be / Just another ex-love you don't wanna see / I don't wanna miss you / Like the other girls do
Very reminiscent of The 1975's song Somebody Else, released in 2016, speculated to be about T: "I don't want your body / But I hate to think about you with somebody else"
I hit you like bang, we tried to forget it, but we just couldn't
"Flashbacks waking me up / I get drunk, but it's not enough" (Death By A Thousand Cuts)
And I bury hatchets, but I keep maps of where I put 'em
"I circled you on a map / I haven't come around in so long" (The Alchemy)
Reputation precedes me, they told you I'm crazy
"And they tried to warn you about me" (The Albatross)
And I can't let you go, your hand prints on my soul
"Marked me like a bloodstain" (Cardigan)
It's like your eyes are liquor, it's like your body is gold
So many of the songs speculated to be about M reference his eyes but the most relevant (not the starry eyed motif which we'll get to in the future) are: "Eyes like sinking ships on waters / So inviting I almost jump in" (gold rush) and "But your eyes are flying saucers from another planet / Now I'm all for you like Janet" (Snow On The Beach)
"Deep blue, but you painted me golden" (Dancing With Our Hands Tied)
You've been calling my bluff on all my usual tricks / So here's the truth from my red lips
From the same Glamour article, Taylor talking about her 'trick' when dating:
CL: What's the freeze-out?
TS: You don't respond to any of his texts or calls until he does something desperate [like] shows up. Or he calls and leaves a voice mail. Something that makes it very clear to you that he's interested.
disclaimer: I am someone who thinks the Tom relationship was not that serious for T, so this song imo fits what she may have told us about her relationship with M more, though the beach reference does point to Tom in a way.
"Don't Blame Me"
I've been breaking hearts a long time / And toying with them older guys / Just playthings for me to use
See the quotes from the Glamour article above. "Younger than my exes, but he act like such a man, so" (...Ready For It?)
Something happened for the first time / In the darkest little paradise
May refer to the dark concert venue where they met for the first time (see So It Goes... for more)
For you / I would cross the line / I would waste my time / I would lose my mind / They say, "She's gone too far this time."
Sentiment that is repeated throughout TTPD, but most clearly in But Daddy I Love Him
My name is whatever you decide / And I'm just gonna call you mine
Though this could be a stretch, in the spotify storyline for The 1975's Oh Caroline (2022), speculated to be about T, M said "It's an invented character, where the cadence really mattered. It couldn't be "Oh Linda" or "Oh Jane" [or "Oh Taylor"] - you had to have a 3 syllable that really works. I knew what the song was about, I had felt that about someone before and I got to write an episodic, mini movie about the subject"
disclaimer: If about M, this song is very on the nose with the drug references. Generally it's a very vague song and could easily be about Joe or another ex.
"So It Goes..."
See you in the dark / All eyes on you, my magician / All eyes on us / You make everyone disappear
Likely refers to the first time T saw M in person, when she was front row at The 1975's LA show. All eyes were on M then (including T's)
"Once upon a time, the planets and the fates / And all the stars aligned / You and I ended up in the same room / At the same time" (Mastermind)
Tripping, tripping when you're gone
May relate to Don't Blame Me: "Trip of my life / every time you're touching me"
'Cause we breakdown a little / But when you get me alone, it's so simple
Maybe a stretch but M famously had a breakdown on stage in Boston on December 6, 2014. In an interview with the Guardian he said: “There was girl stuff. There was family stuff. There was financial stuff. There was drug stuff. I remember hearing the crowd and having an identity crisis. I thought: ‘If you want to see a show, I’ll give you a fucking show. If you’ve come to see the jester drink himself into a slumber, I’ll give it to you.’ I felt like I’d become an idea as opposed to being a person.”
“And I was 25 and afraid to go outside” (Give Yourself a Try)
And all the pieces fall / Right into place
"I laid the groundwork and then, just like clockwork / The dominoes cascaded in a line" (Mastermind)
Getting caught up in a moment / Lipstick on your face
"I said, "Don't fall in love with the moment" / She said I've got a lot to learn / Don't fall in love with the moment /And think you're in love with the girl" (She's American)
Come here, dressed in black now
"Yeah, we're dressed in black from head to toe" (Chocolate). Taylor was also wearing all black the night of the LA show.
conclusion: You did a number on me / But, honestly, baby, who's counting? / I did a number on you / But, honestly, baby, who's counting? ( "King of My Heart"
We met a few weeks ago / Now you try on callin' me "baby" like tryin' on clothes
The reason why I don't necessarily think Joe fits. They met at the Met Gala in 2017 and she very quickly started seeing Tom, obviously it could still be him but I wanted to note this.
"Don't call me 'kid,' don't call me 'baby' / Look at this idiotic fool that you made me" (illicit affairs)
And you move to me like I'm a Motown beat
M loves Motown, even sampling a track by The Temptations on Tonight (I Wish I Was Your Boy). He's also always loved dancing, which you can see in the videos for A Change of Heart and Oh Caroline.
Salute to me I'm your American Queen / Say you fancy me, not fancy stuff
He's English, obviously.
And we rule the kingdom inside my room / With all these nights we're spending / Up on the roof with a school girl crush
Totally speculation but M and T hiding out in her NYC home makes a lot of sense from other pieces she has shared about the relationship “My kingdom come undone” (Hoax)
Late in the night, the city's asleep / Your love is a secret I'm hoping, dreaming, dying to keep
Speculation again but fits with the story of M and T as mostly loving each other in secret (see Dancing With Our Hands Tied and Dress)
Is this the end of all the endings? / My broken bones are mending
As mentioned above, T had seemingly taken a break from dating after the breakup with Harry.
disclaimer: Definitely not 100% sure on this one as there is convincing evidence that it is about J
"Dancing With Our Hands Tied"
I, I loved you in secret / First sight, yeah, we love without reason / Oh, 25 years old
M and T were both born in 1989, M was 25 when they first met and dated and T was turning 25.
My, my love had been frozen / People started talking, putting us through our paces / I knew there was no one in the world who could take it / I loved you in spite of / Deep fears that the world would divide us
“A red rose grew up out of ice frozen ground / With no one around to tweet it” (The Lakes)
In an interview with the Guardian Matty said: “The day after she’d been to a show of ours, someone sent me a screenshot of E! News with the headline ‘Who is Matt Healy?’ That freaked me out. I’m not ready to indulge in that world and I’m not ready to be judged by that world.” So sad to read knowing that they dealt with a similar situation nearly a decade later.
Picture of your face in an invisible locket
“Wear you like a necklace” (So It Goes…)
And darling, you had turned my bed into a sacred oasis
“Now you hang from my lips / Like the Gardens of Babylon / With your boots beneath my bed” (cowboy like me)
I'd kiss you as the lights went out / Swaying as the room burned down / I'd hold you as the water rushes in / If I could dance with you again
Reminds me so much of the music video for cardigan, where T slips into a rough ocean and hangs on to a piano. Also from cardigan: “Leaving like a father / Running like water”
“Dress”
Our secret moments in a crowded room / They got no idea about me and you
"Did you ever have someone kiss you in a crowded room / And every single one of your friends was / Making fun of you" (Question...?)
There is an indentation in the shape of you / Made your mark on me, a golden tattoo
M seemingly makes a lasting impression: “Deep blue, but you painted me golden” (Dancing With Our Hands Tied) “The mark they saw on my collarbone” (Maroon) “Marked me like a bloodstain” (cardigan)
'Cause I don't want you like a best friend
T often seems to refer to a friendship with M, perhaps they tried it a few times: “We were supposed to be just friends” (Glitch) “Like you were my closest friend” (Maroon) “Just say when, I'd play again / He was my best friend / Down at the sandlot” (My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys)
And if I get burned, at least we were electrified
“I'd kiss you as the lights went out / Swaying as the room burned down” (Dancing With Our Hands Tied)
I'm spilling wine in the bathtub / You kiss my face and we're both drunk
Many of the possible M songs refer to M and T’s love of wine. “And I can see us twisted in bedsheets / August slipped away like a bottle of wine” (august) “The burgundy on my T-shirt when you splashed your wine into me / And how the blood rushed into my cheeks, so scarlet, it was (maroon)” (Maroon)
disclaimer - Obviously most likely about Joe given the reference to the 2017 Met Gala but I think it was worth a mention!
“Call It What You Want”
My baby's fly like a jet stream / High above the whole scene
Probably a double-entendre. M considers himself slightly on the outside of the ‘scene’ but this can come across as self assurance. This also could refer to literally being high on drugs
Loves me like I'm brand new
After T’s clever use of The Starting Line in TTPD I’m convinced she’s referring to the band Brand New. M posted a Brand New album on his ig story in 2020.
All my flowers grew back as thorns
An interesting contrast to “I once was poison ivy, but now I'm your daisy” from Don’t Blame Me
Windows boarded up after the storm
“I look through the windows of this love / Even though we boarded them up” (Death By A Thousand Cuts)
I'm laughing with my lover
“Laughing with my feet in your lap” (Maroon) “Please don't ever become a stranger / Whose laugh I could recognize anywhere” (New Year’s Day)
Making forts under covers
Matty famously built a fort in ATPOAIM 3. “I'll build you a fort on some planet / Where they can all understand it” (Down Bad)
Trust him like a brother
“Like I lost my twin” (Down Bad)
Starry eyes sparking up my darkest night
So many starry eyed references which is terribly romantic and terribly sad. “Do I really have to chart the constellations in his eyes?” (High Infidelity), “Your opal eyes are all I wish to see” (ivy), “Eyes full of stars” (cowboy like me), and “Gazing at me starry-eyed” (The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived)
I want to wear his initial on a chain 'round my neck
“Picture of your face in an invisible locket” (Dancing With Our Hands Tied) “Wear you like a necklace” (So It Goes…)
I recall late November, holding my breath
Late November fits perfectly into the timeline of M and T’s 2014 relationship. Late October to Late DecembeEarly January makes the most sense.
Slowly I said, "You don't need to save me / But would you run away with me?"
“You're mad thinking you could ever save me. Not looking like that.” (A Change of Heart)
disclaimer: Again lots of Joe references in this as well so take this with a grain of salt.
“New Year’s Day”
You and me from the night before, but / Don't read the last page
From Me and You Together Song (2020): “I think the story needs more pages, yes.” The reference to “the last page” also makes this song feel like more of a reminiscence than a song about a current lover.
I want your midnights / But I'll be cleaning up bottles with you on New Year's Day
Impossible not to reread these lyrics after Midnights was released as a nod to M: “When the morning came we / Were cleaning incense off your / Vinyl shelf ‘cause we lost track of time again” (Maroon)
You squeeze my hand three times in the back of the taxi / I can tell that it's gonna be a long road / I'll be there if you're the toast of the town, babe / Or if you strike out and you're crawling home
Especially after the release of TTPD it seems that both T and M made many promises to each other that they couldn’t keep
Hold on to the memories, they will hold on to you / Hold on to the memories, they will hold on to you / Hold on to the memories, they will hold on to you / And I will hold on to you
The reference to memories here creates a bit of a confusing feeling about the muse for this song. Although T seems to be talking in the present tense I do think these are memories and dreams for a past relationship.
“Hold on and hope that we'll find our way back in the end / Do you think I have forgotten? / Do you think I have forgotten? / Do you think I have forgotten / About you?” (About You)
Please don't ever become a stranger / Whose laugh I could recognize anywhere / Please don't ever become a stranger / Whose laugh I could recognize anywhere
Not much to say about this but ow!
You and me forevermore
Again reminds me of Me and You Together Song (which I do buy as a song at least partially about T). And of course links to Evermore.
disclaimer: This could absolutely be about Joe but it does feel almost like a goodbye to M, closing the album. It’s as if she is reading “the last page”
Congrats if you read this lol. I clearly have too much time on my hands

An idea I have been toiling with, it finally scratched my mind strong enough to escape. This is a little excerpt of the idea of a man being reincarnated into Westeros during the prelude of the Dance of the Dragons. Being born to Laena and Daemon, the blood of the dragon and the blood of the sea form a strong force in him.
"Dracarys Vhagar!" The piercing cry jolted me from sleep, sending my heart racing as I bolted upright in bed. Time seemed to stretch, the world slowing to a crawl as a familiar clicking sound echoed ominously in the air. My mind raced with a single thought: 'No, it can't be...'
Disregarding my dishevelled state and clad only in underwear, I dashed to the window, gauging the distance to the ground below. The lone palm trees swayed in the wind outside as if offering silent reassurance that the fall wouldn't be too dire.
"A body fit for the lord of the seas I was promised, let's see how that goes..." With resolve hardening my nerves, I leapt over the balcony, the rush of air accompanying my descent.
Fwoosh!
Time seemed to freeze once more as I hurtled toward the staircase leading to the beach. As I landed with a jarring impact, the scene before me unfolded in chaotic clarity. My mother lay collapsed on the sand, a trail of blood staining the shore—a broken figure in the moonlight.
"Keligon zȳhon (Stop Her), Tiamat!" I bellowed, even as flames erupted from Vhagar's jaws. With a primal roar, the sea responded, and the serpentine jaws of Tiamat, the 'dragon' that hatched with me, emerged from the waves. Her various knobs, spines and horns contrasted with her large, sinuous, white body. She surged forward from the depths, her red eyes focused and the hood around her neck flared as her powerful jaws snapped shut with a resounding crack. The clash of titanic forces reverberated through the water as Vhagar roared in defiance, its flames sputtering against the onslaught. Arcs of electricity crackled between each sharp fang, the resonance of the elements contrasting the deep of the night.
With gritted teeth, I ignored the pain from my fall and raced toward my mother's side. Vhagar's Dragonfire faltered, replaced by a pained cry as she struggled against Tiamat's grip. "Jikagon arlī (Go Back), Tiamat," I commanded, and the sea creature obediently released its hold, slipping back beneath the waves. In my mind, I could feel how concerned she was for me and my mother as well.
As Vhagar turned, disoriented and enraged, I approached cautiously, soothing words falling from my lips. "gīda, gīda, (calm, calm) Vhagar," I murmured, hoping to quell the storm raging within her.
Holding my mother in my arms, I noted that only half of her body was burnt, yet they seemed to only penetrate to the last layer of the skin. Her body was a charred remnant, I asked her to be quiet as I asked for the water's help in healing her.
In my mind, however, I felt Tiamat indicate that dragonfire was the exception. Gritting my teeth, I asked my mother,

"would... would you like me to at least save the baby painlessly?"
She nodded. I proceeded to ask the water within my mother to release the child, and it slowly began to push the baby out.
Amidst the cries of a newborn, echoing across the desolate beach, a figure descended the weathered stone stairs, casting a long, solemn shadow over the scene. The gentle lapping of the waves provided a haunting backdrop to the momentous occasion unfolding in the fading light of day.
"It's a boy, mother..." I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper, choked with emotion. "I'll call him Laenor... in your and... and ah, uncle's honour..."
Tears welled in my eyes as I swallowed the rising bile, threatening to spill over as I gazed down at the fragile bundle in my arms. His cries, though piercing, seemed to fade into the background as I focused on the woman who had given me life.
Summoning the last reserves of her strength, my mother nodded slightly as she extended a trembling hand to touch my tear-streaked face. Her touch was both searing and tender, a bittersweet reminder of the love that bound us together. A faint smile tugged at the corners of her lips, a silent reassurance in the face of impending separation.
"My... special boy..." she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath, yet filled with a depth of love that transcended words. "I... will... al...ways... lo...ve y-"
But her words trailed off into silence, the light fading from her once bright eyes as her spirit slipped quietly from this world. At that moment, as I cradled my newborn son in my arms, I felt the weight of her absence settle over me like a heavy shroud. My mother is now forever lost to me...
Moving away from her body, I understood what she wished for, a true valyrian death. I moved towards the cause of the rapid footsteps and knew who it was from their build,
The tension between father and son crackled in the air like the static before a storm as I confronted Daemon, my words dripping with bitterness and accusation.
"Father," I seethed, my voice heavy with venom, "I wonder... did you grant me that final moment with her out of respect, or was it merely your own disinterest in her that allowed it?"
Emerging from the shadows, Daemon regarded me with a cool detachment that only fueled my anger. His silence spoke volumes, a tacit acknowledgement of the rift that had grown between us.
"You are upset, I understand--" he began, attempting to placate me.
"Upset? UPSET?!" I erupted, the floodgates of my grief and frustration bursting forth. "My fucking mother just died! Your WIFE! At the age of 26! How could you have let this happen?!"
Daemon remained stoic, unmoved by my outburst. I continued to rail against him, pouring out my anguish and resentment until I was left gasping for breath.
"I tried... Everything," He whispered out, the weight of his failure resting silently on his shoulders. "Everything that the masters recommended, I did without question."
"You KNEW I was special," I accused, my voice trembling with betrayal. "Why did you not come to me?"
"Special, yes," Daemon conceded with a sigh. "But able to ensure a safe delivery? That was not something I expected to be within your abilities."
His words cut deep, slicing through the haze of my grief with a sharp clarity. I silenced him with a look, determination hardening my resolve.
"We will discuss this later," I declared, my voice firm. "After I have cremated my mother."
Daemon's gaze lingered on me, a silent acknowledgement of my authority at this moment. But his next words grated against me,
"And how will you do that without a dragon that breathes... fire?"
With a silent exchange, I passed my younger brother into his care, my jaw clenched with determination. Turning away, I strode toward Vhagar, my mother's final resting place.
"Dracarys, Vhagar," I commanded, but she remained stubbornly unmoved, defying my order. Frustration surged within me, but I refused to be stopped.
Raising my arms toward the open ocean, I summoned a thick tendril of water to wrap around Vhagar's throat. With a clenched fist, I repeated my command, forcing her head towards my mother's body.
"Vhagar. DRACARYS."
This time, she obeyed, her flames engulfing my mother's body in the ancient funeral rite of Valyria. As her body blazed, consuming my mother's earthly remains, I honoured her final request, granting her the dignity of a true Valyrian death.
"Keligon, Vhagar," I murmured, the flames extinguishing at my command. She seemed to listen now, subdued by the solemnity of the moment. I let Vhagar free of the water tendril before stepping back towards my father,
"IF. And I truly mean IF," I emphasized, locking eyes with Daemon, "I find out that you had anything to do with her death or that you tell anyone of my abilities... I swear on the memory of my dead mother that I will pierce your heart and lungs with that targaryen blood that you are oh so proud of."
My words hung heavy in the air, a solemn oath borne of grief and determination.
There was a moment of tense silence as my words reverberated between us, each syllable weighted with the weight of my resolve. Daemon's expression remained inscrutable, but I detected a flicker of unease beneath the mask of indifference.
With a final, piercing stare, I turned away, leaving him to contemplate the gravity of my vow. As I left the yard, I noted the small smile that replaced his expression.
Ascending the steps, exhaustion weighed heavily on my shoulders, mingling with the simmering emotions that churned within me. It was then that I realized the reason for Daemon's smile, the underlying pride that lay beneath his stoic facade.
Halting midway up the stairs, I turned back to face him, my gaze meeting his across the distance.
"You're proud, aren't you?" I questioned, my voice tinged with a mix of frustration and resignation.
Daemon met my gaze, his expression unreadable yet tinged with a hint of something akin to pride.
"Of course," he replied, his voice carrying a weight of its own. "After all, that part of you is finally out... The fire and fury of a dragon."
His words resonated within me, stirring a complex mixture of emotions. With a nod of acknowledgement, I turned away once more, leaving him to his thoughts on the desolate beach below.
Though my anger still simmered beneath the surface, tempered by the realization that some of my accusations had been fueled by raw emotion, I resolved to address them with a clearer mind in the days to come. For now, I needed time to process, to mourn, and to prepare for the challenges that lay ahead.
So yeah, hope you enjoyed that. I'm thinking of writing the entire thing but idk yet.

Okay, I’m gonna level with you. Focusing on current events is just getting a little too fucking heavy. I’m no closer to answers than I was a month ago, none of us can sleep through a full night without waking up shaking and drenched in sweat, and there are some new downright bizarre phenomena cropping up that I just don’t have it in me to allot my energy to at the moment.
So, for today’s installment (and then also for the next one) I’m gonna tell you another good ol’ fun-for-the-whole-family pool story. Yep, you heard that right—welcome to our first bonafide two-parter.
This was quite a while ago. My measure of time is all off by a year now, but I feel fairly confident in chalking it up to post-first pool story, pre-ouija board fiasco—so however long ago that’s been now.
It was a weird, rare night, in that Matt was out. Not an unheard of occurrence, but it’s fairly anomalous, and it certainly puts the rest of us on slightly higher alert.
Obviously, he always tells us to call him at the first sign of some shit going down and to use our best judgment to determine whether it’s serious enough to lock up and head out. Better safe than sorry and all that. The night in question was no exception to the rule.
Overall, though, things were mostly quiet. Alice was in, as was I, as was Wiley. We do a lot of congregating, but we do a lot of work, too, and this night, we were all in our respective areas, doing our respective jobs.
I was in my not-office mending a finicky Shakespeare anthology, Alice was watching the desk while working on cataloging a truckload of new donations, and Wiley was replacing several lightbulbs that had all decided to call it quits after our most recent power outage (this one due to a flash-flood).
It was calm to an almost uncharacteristic degree. There was a relatively steady flow of patrons in and out of the building—I could hear Alice greeting them and wishing them a good evening—but as far as anomalous activity, there was none.
It does happen, on rare occasion, that we make it through a full night without any goings on, but there’s almost always at least the odd disembodied voice or two.
We should’ve known better than to trust a meteor shower.
See, there’s just something about natural anomalies. Not just the ones that knock our power out, either, although those are clearly included. Blizzards, thunderstorms, hail and tornados and earthquakes and all your run-of-the-mill destructive shit, sure. But the things of beauty, too. Rainbows. Eclipses, lunar or solar. And you think full moons hit emergency rooms hard? Try this fucking place.
It was just that a meteor shower wasn’t one we’d dealt with before. Does that mean we shouldn’t have known better? Fuck no. Obviously not. But perhaps our collective greatest fault is that we still have some semblance of hope.
Wiley wanted to look at it from the roof. Kid never fucking wants to do anything, and they were set to climb up and camp out alone. I couldn’t not entertain such an innocent, youthful whim.
Our roof access doesn’t have stairs—just a ladder—so Alice couldn’t accompany us, which I felt shitty about, but she assured me it was perfectly fine with her.
“The world decided I didn’t need functional legs so I could never be peer pressured into leaving the ground,” she quipped. “I’m not into heights. But y’all have fun up there. Somebody needs to be here for the patrons anyway.”
Fair and fair. So Wiley and I gathered up an armful of blankets and one of Matt’s trusty camping lanterns and headed out to scale the building.
Wiley went up ahead of me. That was my first mistake.
Really, they aren’t that much younger than I am. Maybe four or five years, and I’m too close to thirty for comfort now. But there’s something about them, even as far as they’ve come, that makes it impossible for me not to do everything in my power to protect them. I think Matt feels the same way. Maybe most of us do.
Anyway, that’s why I immediately started cursing myself when they reached the top of the ladder, pulled their way up and over the ledge of the roof, and said, “...Whoa.”
My second mistake was not immediately telling them to turn around and start climbing right the fuck back down.
I knew exactly what that tone of voice meant. But something in me just kicked into hyperdrive and I…had to see it. Whatever it was, I had to see it for myself.
“Don’t move,” I said, and then, “What is it?”
But by that point, I was at the top, too. I hoisted myself over the ledge and was met with…
…Water.
It was everywhere. Extending in every direction. There was no edge in sight—not even a horizon line. Just vast, dark water as far as the eye could see.
“Okay. This is not—let’s go.”
“Yeah,” Wiley agreed, a little breathless.
I’m sure you’ll be downright shocked to learn that, when we turned around, the ladder was gone.
The edge of the rooftop was, too.
The thing that surprised me, really, was that it wasn’t as though we were standing on some sort of island. We were somehow in the water all of a sudden, up to our waists, neither of us having taken a single step.
“Fucking…shit. Jesus. Adam?”
“We’re fine,” was my default response, because my anxiety override kicks in like a motherfucker as soon as someone else is more openly afraid than I am. “It’s okay, let’s just—let’s think for a second. Maybe it’s just, like, an illusion or something.”
“Okay,” Wiley said. “Maybe we should…try moving?”
“Yeah. Yeah, we’ll bump the ledge and then we can just feel for the ladder. Good idea.”
Wiley and I shared a look, wordlessly nodding to one another, and stepped forward in unison.
Maybe I misspoke before, when I said we weren’t on a platform. It was just that our platform wasn’t above the water. Now, though, there was nothing.
It felt, almost, like the stomach-turning sensation of missing a step walking up a staircase. The only difference was that there was no moment-too-late connection.
We plummeted.
There wasn’t any difference in temperature beneath the surface, which was, in a way, more disorienting than the water itself. The mental recalibration that typically comes with plunging into a cool lake or, adversely, a heated pool wasn’t allotted an opportunity to take place. It felt, for most intents and purposes, the same as being in the air, just that I couldn’t breathe.
It was heavy, too. The weightlessness water tends to embody was null; I immediately abandoned everything I’d been carrying, clawing my way upward frantically enough that it would’ve been mortifying, I’m sure, had anyone witnessed it.
Wiley resurfaced at the same moment I did—empty handed as well, I noted—coughing a little but not to the extent that I was worried they were choking. “Next idea?” they asked, pushing their wet hair back from their face, dark, damp lashes obscuring their eyes.
“Let’s get back on the…” I started, but trailed off when I raised my head.
A couple hundred yards out from us, there was a ship. It was a dark, hulking thing, with tattered sails and something indistinguishable affixed to the bow, glittering and glinting in the moonlight.
Wiley spun around to face it, drifting back slightly when their gaze landed parallel to mine. “What the fuck is that?” they demanded, legs kicking haphazardly beneath the water to keep them in place.
“Maybe it’s…good,” I said. I knew better than that and I knew Wiley did, too, but I said it anyway. “Maybe someone will help.”
They didn’t even humor me with a response to that bullshit.
Now, at this point in the story, maybe you’re thinking being suddenly surrounded by water and watching as an ominous ship approached us with absolutely nowhere to go and no way to escape doesn’t feel quite enough like imminent condemnation. To which I say to you: not to worry. Because the next realization we came to was that the platform we’d been standing on previously had suddenly ceased to exist.
“Shit,” Wiley said. “Shit, shit, shit. Adam.”
“I know,” I said. “It’s fine. We’re fine. We just—we’re gonna—follow me.”
I don’t know. I don’t know what the fuck possessed me to swim toward the Obvious Death Ship. I guess just that there wasn’t anything else save for open water anywhere so it essentially felt like our options were paddle around until we were exhausted and drown or face a quicker, simpler demise.
“You better have a fucking plan, bro,” Wiley intoned from behind me, which I chivalrously pretended not to hear, because I did not, in fact, have a fucking plan.
The closer we drew to the vessel, the more unbelievably monstrous it appeared to become. It loomed above us, casting a shadow over everything in its direct path, and the sinking in my stomach almost convinced me to turn around. Almost.
But then something curled around my ankle. It was slick and strong, and there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that whatever it was could’ve pulled me under and eaten me alive in a fraction of a second.
Luckily for me, it wasn’t interested. It let go as quickly as it had latched on, almost as though it was simply using me as a handrail to move itself along. Still, though, the knowledge that it was there was all the motivation I needed to push forward ever faster. I didn’t say anything—didn’t want to add more fuel to Wiley’s panicked fire—just picked up my pace and swam up to their side.
“There’s a ladder,” they informed me, raising a hand and pointing toward the back half of the ship.
Indeed, there was a ladder. It was a tattered, worn thing, comprised of old, fraying rope and rotting, untreated wooden boards, but it looked composed enough that I figured we could likely make it up if we were swift.
“Bet,” I said. “Let’s go.”
We went.
Up close, the ladder appeared even shoddier than it had when we’d first seen it. I reached out of the water and wrapped my fingers around the rope at the bottom, giving it a hearty tug. To my slight surprise, it held fast.
“I think we’re good,” I told Wiley. “I’ll go up first and tell you what I see.”
“Be careful,” they said, but didn’t protest, just backed up enough for me to get the leverage I needed to hoist myself onto the bottom board.
I climbed warily, overly conscious of every creak of the wood bowing beneath my weight, every groan of the fibers of rope under my hands, but made it without incident to the top.
Once there, I grabbed onto the ship’s edge, lifting my gaze to take in whatever lie before me.
It was…nothing. I mean, it was a ship, obviously. But there wasn’t anything on board. No apparent crew nor cargo nor even a captain manning the helm. Granted, I couldn’t see perfectly, but the moon shone brightly enough that I was fairly confident in my observation that the deck was devoid of anything but its own shiplap floor.
“Hello?” I called, because I wasn’t about to beckon Wiley up if some fucked shit was going to pop out of nowhere the second we made a sound.
Nothing responded. Nothing moved. The ship rocked gently on the impossible water, as silent and vacant as it had been a moment before.
“Good?” Wiley questioned nervously from below me.
“Yeah,” I told them, easing myself off the ladder and down into the confines of the vessel. “Come on.”
They did so tenuously but still more swiftly than I had, climbing aboard and landing next to me with a dampened thunk.
We allowed ourselves the briefest of moments to catch our breath, silently rejoicing in the small win that was having found solace from the pool itself. Not that we had any idea what to do or where to go from here, but at the very least, we weren’t drowning.
“Okay,” I said, clearing the unease from my throat. “I don’t know what good trying to steer this thing would do us—there’s nothing but water no matter where we go. But maybe there’s something here somewhere that’ll help us figure out how to get back. So I think we just…start looking around?”
Wiley nodded. “Cool. Split halves, front and back?”
Nooo, Adam, don’t split up! Never split up! I know. I can literally hear you screaming it at me. And actually, for once in my life, I considered that something might be a horrible fucking idea before acting on it.
But then I saw something.
As I turned back to respond, Wiley’s eyes shimmered, dancing in the moonlight.
They were silver and mercurial, with no pupils or whites in sight.
Whatever had come back up from underwater, it was not my coworker.
I swallowed, forcing my expression to remain as neutral as I was able and praying whatever was standing in front of me didn’t notice I’d caught on. My entire body was instantaneously covered in chills, in a way that I understood to have the same purpose as a dog’s hackles rising. “Sounds good,” I said. “I’ll take the front.”
I headed in the opposite direction of the thing wearing Wiley’s face (at a pace that I hoped didn’t appear hurried but one that would remove me in a timely manner from the vicinity) and didn’t stop until I’d reached the front of the ship, breathing heavily and attempting to slow my reeling mind.
I didn’t know what to tackle first. I didn’t know where Wiley was, or if they were anywhere—if they were even still alive. I didn’t know what my next move should be. I didn’t know what I was looking for or where I might find it.
It’s rare that I feel utterly hopeless, to the degree that I genuinely contemplate just sitting down and giving up, but in this instance, I thought long and hard about how easy it would be to succumb. I’d let the unthinkable happen. Wiley was gone. No one else had been here with them—there was no one else to blame. Just me. Only me.
…You’ll be glad to know that the self-pity didn’t last long. Embarrassing, honestly.
If I was the only one here, it meant I was the only shot they had at making it out alive. Our version of ‘innocent until proven guilty’ had always been ‘alive until proven dead’ and I wasn’t about to turn my back on the insane streak of luck we’d had up until this point. Not a single one of our lives had been lost, and we’d been in the midst of some absolute shitstorms. There was no reason to believe that right now, tonight, was an outlier. I couldn’t lie down like a sick dog and wonder if Wiley was still out there somewhere, suffering until the bitter, bloody end. I had to find them. By whatever means necessary, as long as it took, I had to find them.
I pushed off the railing before me and spun on my heel, eyes flitting back and forth to assess my options as efficiently as possible, and after a moment, I registered that fitted flush against the large front mast, there was a door.
It was only a sliver, thin and not particularly extraordinary in height, but there was a handle carved roughly into its right side and a set of rust-riddled hinges on its left.
I took about half a second to weigh my options and then reached for it, curling my fingers around the handle and giving it a generous tug.
The hinges, unsurprisingly, complained, but not loudly and not for long. The door gave way with little resistance, and opened up to my worst fucking nightmare.
A set of stairs, descending into blackness.
I mean, I guess if I’m being fair, my first pool encounter had featured a staircase leading to the pool rather than away from it, but I didn’t feel like there could possibly be good news awaiting me below deck of a ship where I’d just encountered a fucking mimic.
Still, though, there was a niggling insistence in my brain (not that kind, come on) that it was my only lead on finding Wiley if they were, in fact, somewhere on board. So I cast one last glance over my shoulder and stepped into the dark, letting the door fall closed behind me.
It smelled different, instantly, from the open air above. Mustier, which was to be expected, but also almost sweet somehow. I tried, unsuccessfully, to shove my true-crime-podcast-addled brain’s helpful reminder that the scent of human death is said to be sweet into a mental lockbox and put my hand to the wall, easing tentatively down to the second step.
The visibility wasn’t just low—it was practically zero. If you’ve ever been on a cave tour and had a guide cut the lights and instruct you to lift your hand to your face to demonstrate the complete absence of light, it was nearly that intense. The placing of both feet on each concurrent stair was an arduous, calculated process, but finally, after approximately one (1) century, I reached flat ground. I still couldn’t see, and there was no definitive way to tell whether I was standing on the floor or just a landing without thoroughly feeling out the space around me, so I reluctantly departed from the wall, scooting my feet in small, tentative motions and keeping both arms partially outstretched before me.
After a (l o n g) moment, I determined that either this was the world’s largest landing or I’d made it all the way down. I had no idea whether I was in a singular, enormous room, or if there were individual cabins, or if I was about to run face-first into the grim fucking reaper.
And then I turned to my left.
There was a light.
It was so, so faint. Flickering. Barely discernible, its warm, gentle glow ever so shyly illuminating the cracks around what appeared to be another closed door.
Being the only visible thing in my line of sight, in any direction, it emitted the aura of both a beacon and an omen.
I headed towards it.
I was about half afraid I was stuck in a horror movie situation where no matter how long I walked it would never grow any closer, but fortunately, that didn’t seem to be the case. I actually gained on it more quickly than I felt I should have for the speed I was moving, but I wasn’t going to complain about reaching the end of the nothingness in commendable time.
I ran my fingertips along the edge of the door and, sure enough, there was a carved-in handle, just like the last.
It opened just as effortlessly, and yellow candlelight rolled dimly out to greet me, lapping at my waterlogged clothes.
“Please,” came a quiet, terrified voice from inside the room. “Please don’t. I don’t know what you want, or–or what you are, but please don’t—”
“...Wiley?”
Rather than calming, the voice’s state of alarm rose to a level bordering on full-blown panic as I took a step into the space. “Please,” the voice begged. There wasn’t anyone visible from my current vantage point, but I could hear it clearly enough to feel fairly confident that the person attached to it—the person who either had to be Wiley or yet another duplicate of them—was close. “Why are you doing this?”
This was a cabin, I thought, or perhaps a study of some sort, with a rotting wooden desk and a decaying leather chair both covered in a flurry of loose, browned book pages and a thick layer of dust. There were candles littering several surfaces, placed in what appeared not to be any intentional manner. Directly to my right, there was a shelf; its back faced me and the odd placement led me to imagine that it may have been employed to block the door at some time.
It was also, I would have just about bet, the source of the voice.
I nudged a couple of planks and a broken amber bottle out of the way with the toe of my shoe, rounding the shelf to find a crumpled, bloodied Wiley, restrained to the floor by a thick, coarse rope fixed expertly to a bolted tie and holding their bound hands up to shield their face.
“Jesus fuck,” I said. “What happened to you?”
Slowly, they lifted their head. “...Adam?”
Realization dawned on me, and I felt my stomach sink. “Look at me,” I told them. “Look at my eyes.”
They did, their own bloodshot and watery and inherently human, and I watched their shoulders deflate, the defense and terror draining from their form. “There’s someone…something…down here. Or, I guess it still is, anyway. I don’t know where it went, but I don’t wanna be here when it comes back.”
I nodded. “It look like me?”
Wiley nodded back.
“Yeah, there’s one of you upstairs. Not real sure what we’re supposed to do about them, but one thing at a time. Let’s get you up from there.”
It was a struggle, disentangling Wiley from the heavy, abrasive leads coccooning their body, but we got there eventually, and throughout the entirety of the arduous process they gave me the rundown on how, when we’d parted from the solace of the platform, something had instantaneously latched onto them, dragging them down deeper and deeper until their ears popped and their head felt like it was going to explode. They said they’d been knocked out by the pressure, and that when they’d come to, already tied in place and coughing up lungfuls of water, “I” had been standing over them, wielding a large net hook and no mercy.
“I knew it wasn’t you, obviously,” they said, “but I didn’t know where you actually were or if something had, like. Hijacked your body? I don’t know. Anyway, let’s get the fuck out of here.”
We grabbed a couple of candles (the majority had simply been melted into place atop whatever surface they’d adorned, but there was a small collection fitted into slightly-too-small brass holders) and got the fuck out.
Being able to see so little in the space around us was almost more disorienting than the pitch darkness I’d been feeling my way through before. It felt as though we were in a fragile, wavering bubble of reality and nothing existed outside of it.
“Wish I’d been awake coming down here,” Wiley remarked. “Guess I still wouldn’t have seen shit, though.”
“I could…maybe get us back upstairs?” I considered, with little to no confidence. “But I don’t really know what good it would do us. Nowhere to go. Maybe we just…look around down here for a bit? See if we can find anything useful?”
“Yeah, okay,” Wiley assented. “But we’ve gotta be quiet. I don’t want that thing to hear us.”
I certainly couldn’t argue with that.
We wandered hesitantly through the dark, shielding the flames of our candles with cupped palms and praying we wouldn’t misstep. We made it some unsubstantiated quantity of time without incident, but softly, after seconds or minutes or hours, we heard a light rustling from the shadow veiled corridor to our right, and Wiley pulled me into the nearest open room in the opposite direction.
Flattening our backs to the wall, we listened intently as footsteps echoed faintly behind us, cyclically growing closer and then further away again for several moments before disappearing altogether.
I let out a breath I hadn’t known I was holding and uncovered my candle, easing the door of the room to a gentle, silent close. The contents of this one were different from that of the last in that there practically weren’t any. It wasn’t just that it was tidier; there was a chest shoved against the wall nearest us and a leatherbound book of some sort lying in the center of the floor, but otherwise the space was vacant.
Wiley moved first, crouching next to the journal and lifting it from the ground, a cloud of dust rising in the wake of their breath. I knelt down beside them, offering my candlelight so they could discard theirs and open the cover.
Beneath which there was a box.
It was a plain, unadorned wooden rectangle, nestled into the carved-out central pages of the book, and we learned upon extracting it that there was no lock or latch, just a seam indicating the lid’s separation from the body.
I don’t need to spell the whole situation out for you. There was a key in the box. The key opened, you guessed it: the chest. Inside the chest, there were piles of gold and jewels beyond your wildest imagination. We’re rich now. The end.
Nah, JK. But the key in the box did open the chest, in which there was, A) a pair of peeling, pleather driving gloves, and B)...
I felt my heart skip.
A bicycle chain.
I’m not going to get into the nuances of that right now, or maybe ever. But for the purposes of dramatic flair, just know that it was incredibly, pointedly relevant to me, on a level so personal it sucker punched the air straight out of my lungs.
“No,” Wiley said, staggering back a step. “Uh-uh. Nope.”
I put together, then, that the gloves must have been their ticket item. “It’s okay,” I said, on autopilot, because it was not. “There’s something—something’s carved into the bottom of this thing.” Pushing past the reaction every fiber of my being had to the sensation of the frigid metal against my skin, I shoved both the chain and the gloves to the side and could scarcely make out a host of crudely scrawled letters in the wavering light of my half-gone candle.
“What is it?” Wiley asked, making no move to come nearer again.
“Though your…hand…? Heart. Though your heart does pound and knees grow…weak,” I deciphered slowly, “Rid yourself by your… That doesn’t make any sense. Shouldn’t it be of? It says ‘rid yourself by your fear’ and…something. Drain the…clin… No. Drink. Drain the drink.”
“Rid yourself by your fear and drain the drink,” Wiley repeated analytically. “The hell does that mean? Is this shit telling us to kill ourselves with the—oh. Oh. Fuck.”
I was not following. “...I’m not following,” I said.
“It is.” Wiley returned to my side, squatting down and nudging me out of the way with their shoulder to peer warily into the trunk. “It’s telling us to kill ourselves, but not these selves. We’re supposed to use…those…to kill our fuckin’ doppelgangers, or whatever they are. That’s how we get rid of the water.”
“Oh,” I echoed. “Fuck.”
We marinated for a moment in silence before Wiley sighed, resigned, and lifted the gloves from the chest, closing their eyes and pulling the fabric snugly over their hands. “Let’s get to work.”

Okay, I’m gonna level with you. Focusing on current events is just getting a little too fucking heavy. I’m no closer to answers than I was a month ago, none of us can sleep through a full night without waking up shaking and drenched in sweat, and there are some new downright bizarre phenomena cropping up that I just don’t have it in me to allot my energy to at the moment.
So, for today’s installment (and then also for the next one) I’m gonna tell you another good ol’ fun-for-the-whole-family pool story. Yep, you heard that right—welcome to our first bonafide two-parter.
This was quite a while ago. My measure of time is all off by a year now, but I feel fairly confident in chalking it up to post-first pool story, pre-ouija board fiasco—so however long ago that’s been now.
It was a weird, rare night, in that Matt was out. Not an unheard of occurrence, but it’s fairly anomalous, and it certainly puts the rest of us on slightly higher alert.
Obviously, he always tells us to call him at the first sign of some shit going down and to use our best judgment to determine whether it’s serious enough to lock up and head out. Better safe than sorry and all that. The night in question was no exception to the rule.
Overall, though, things were mostly quiet. Alice was in, as was I, as was Wiley. We do a lot of congregating, but we do a lot of work, too, and this night, we were all in our respective areas, doing our respective jobs.
I was in my not-office mending a finicky Shakespeare anthology, Alice was watching the desk while working on cataloging a truckload of new donations, and Wiley was replacing several lightbulbs that had all decided to call it quits after our most recent power outage (this one due to a flash-flood).
It was calm to an almost uncharacteristic degree. There was a relatively steady flow of patrons in and out of the building—I could hear Alice greeting them and wishing them a good evening—but as far as anomalous activity, there was none.
It does happen, on rare occasion, that we make it through a full night without any goings on, but there’s almost always at least the odd disembodied voice or two.
We should’ve known better than to trust a meteor shower.
See, there’s just something about natural anomalies. Not just the ones that knock our power out, either, although those are clearly included. Blizzards, thunderstorms, hail and tornados and earthquakes and all your run-of-the-mill destructive shit, sure. But the things of beauty, too. Rainbows. Eclipses, lunar or solar. And you think full moons hit emergency rooms hard? Try this fucking place.
It was just that a meteor shower wasn’t one we’d dealt with before. Does that mean we shouldn’t have known better? Fuck no. Obviously not. But perhaps our collective greatest fault is that we still have some semblance of hope.
Wiley wanted to look at it from the roof. Kid never fucking wants to do anything, and they were set to climb up and camp out alone. I couldn’t not entertain such an innocent, youthful whim.
Our roof access doesn’t have stairs—just a ladder—so Alice couldn’t accompany us, which I felt shitty about, but she assured me it was perfectly fine with her.
“The world decided I didn’t need functional legs so I could never be peer pressured into leaving the ground,” she quipped. “I’m not into heights. But y’all have fun up there. Somebody needs to be here for the patrons anyway.”
Fair and fair. So Wiley and I gathered up an armful of blankets and one of Matt’s trusty camping lanterns and headed out to scale the building.
Wiley went up ahead of me. That was my first mistake.
Really, they aren’t that much younger than I am. Maybe four or five years, and I’m too close to thirty for comfort now. But there’s something about them, even as far as they’ve come, that makes it impossible for me not to do everything in my power to protect them. I think Matt feels the same way. Maybe most of us do.
Anyway, that’s why I immediately started cursing myself when they reached the top of the ladder, pulled their way up and over the ledge of the roof, and said, “...Whoa.”
My second mistake was not immediately telling them to turn around and start climbing right the fuck back down.
I knew exactly what that tone of voice meant. But something in me just kicked into hyperdrive and I…had to see it. Whatever it was, I had to see it for myself.
“Don’t move,” I said, and then, “What is it?”
But by that point, I was at the top, too. I hoisted myself over the ledge and was met with…
…Water.
It was everywhere. Extending in every direction. There was no edge in sight—not even a horizon line. Just vast, dark water as far as the eye could see.
“Okay. This is not—let’s go.”
“Yeah,” Wiley agreed, a little breathless.
I’m sure you’ll be downright shocked to learn that, when we turned around, the ladder was gone.
The edge of the rooftop was, too.
The thing that surprised me, really, was that it wasn’t as though we were standing on some sort of island. We were somehow in the water all of a sudden, up to our waists, neither of us having taken a single step.
“Fucking…shit. Jesus. Adam?”
“We’re fine,” was my default response, because my anxiety override kicks in like a motherfucker as soon as someone else is more openly afraid than I am. “It’s okay, let’s just—let’s think for a second. Maybe it’s just, like, an illusion or something.”
“Okay,” Wiley said. “Maybe we should…try moving?”
“Yeah. Yeah, we’ll bump the ledge and then we can just feel for the ladder. Good idea.”
Wiley and I shared a look, wordlessly nodding to one another, and stepped forward in unison.
Maybe I misspoke before, when I said we weren’t on a platform. It was just that our platform wasn’t above the water. Now, though, there was nothing.
It felt, almost, like the stomach-turning sensation of missing a step walking up a staircase. The only difference was that there was no moment-too-late connection.
We plummeted.
There wasn’t any difference in temperature beneath the surface, which was, in a way, more disorienting than the water itself. The mental recalibration that typically comes with plunging into a cool lake or, adversely, a heated pool wasn’t allotted an opportunity to take place. It felt, for most intents and purposes, the same as being in the air, just that I couldn’t breathe.
It was heavy, too. The weightlessness water tends to embody was null; I immediately abandoned everything I’d been carrying, clawing my way upward frantically enough that it would’ve been mortifying, I’m sure, had anyone witnessed it.
Wiley resurfaced at the same moment I did—empty handed as well, I noted—coughing a little but not to the extent that I was worried they were choking. “Next idea?” they asked, pushing their wet hair back from their face, dark, damp lashes obscuring their eyes.
“Let’s get back on the…” I started, but trailed off when I raised my head.
A couple hundred yards out from us, there was a ship. It was a dark, hulking thing, with tattered sails and something indistinguishable affixed to the bow, glittering and glinting in the moonlight.
Wiley spun around to face it, drifting back slightly when their gaze landed parallel to mine. “What the fuck is that?” they demanded, legs kicking haphazardly beneath the water to keep them in place.
“Maybe it’s…good,” I said. I knew better than that and I knew Wiley did, too, but I said it anyway. “Maybe someone will help.”
They didn’t even humor me with a response to that bullshit.
Now, at this point in the story, maybe you’re thinking being suddenly surrounded by water and watching as an ominous ship approached us with absolutely nowhere to go and no way to escape doesn’t feel quite enough like imminent condemnation. To which I say to you: not to worry. Because the next realization we came to was that the platform we’d been standing on previously had suddenly ceased to exist.
“Shit,” Wiley said. “Shit, shit, shit. Adam.”
“I know,” I said. “It’s fine. We’re fine. We just—we’re gonna—follow me.”
I don’t know. I don’t know what the fuck possessed me to swim toward the Obvious Death Ship. I guess just that there wasn’t anything else save for open water anywhere so it essentially felt like our options were paddle around until we were exhausted and drown or face a quicker, simpler demise.
“You better have a fucking plan, bro,” Wiley intoned from behind me, which I chivalrously pretended not to hear, because I did not, in fact, have a fucking plan.
The closer we drew to the vessel, the more unbelievably monstrous it appeared to become. It loomed above us, casting a shadow over everything in its direct path, and the sinking in my stomach almost convinced me to turn around. Almost.
But then something curled around my ankle. It was slick and strong, and there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that whatever it was could’ve pulled me under and eaten me alive in a fraction of a second.
Luckily for me, it wasn’t interested. It let go as quickly as it had latched on, almost as though it was simply using me as a handrail to move itself along. Still, though, the knowledge that it was there was all the motivation I needed to push forward ever faster. I didn’t say anything—didn’t want to add more fuel to Wiley’s panicked fire—just picked up my pace and swam up to their side.
“There’s a ladder,” they informed me, raising a hand and pointing toward the back half of the ship.
Indeed, there was a ladder. It was a tattered, worn thing, comprised of old, fraying rope and rotting, untreated wooden boards, but it looked composed enough that I figured we could likely make it up if we were swift.
“Bet,” I said. “Let’s go.”
We went.
Up close, the ladder appeared even shoddier than it had when we’d first seen it. I reached out of the water and wrapped my fingers around the rope at the bottom, giving it a hearty tug. To my slight surprise, it held fast.
“I think we’re good,” I told Wiley. “I’ll go up first and tell you what I see.”
“Be careful,” they said, but didn’t protest, just backed up enough for me to get the leverage I needed to hoist myself onto the bottom board.
I climbed warily, overly conscious of every creak of the wood bowing beneath my weight, every groan of the fibers of rope under my hands, but made it without incident to the top.
Once there, I grabbed onto the ship’s edge, lifting my gaze to take in whatever lie before me.
It was…nothing. I mean, it was a ship, obviously. But there wasn’t anything on board. No apparent crew nor cargo nor even a captain manning the helm. Granted, I couldn’t see perfectly, but the moon shone brightly enough that I was fairly confident in my observation that the deck was devoid of anything but its own shiplap floor.
“Hello?” I called, because I wasn’t about to beckon Wiley up if some fucked shit was going to pop out of nowhere the second we made a sound.
Nothing responded. Nothing moved. The ship rocked gently on the impossible water, as silent and vacant as it had been a moment before.
“Good?” Wiley questioned nervously from below me.
“Yeah,” I told them, easing myself off the ladder and down into the confines of the vessel. “Come on.”
They did so tenuously but still more swiftly than I had, climbing aboard and landing next to me with a dampened thunk.
We allowed ourselves the briefest of moments to catch our breath, silently rejoicing in the small win that was having found solace from the pool itself. Not that we had any idea what to do or where to go from here, but at the very least, we weren’t drowning.
“Okay,” I said, clearing the unease from my throat. “I don’t know what good trying to steer this thing would do us—there’s nothing but water no matter where we go. But maybe there’s something here somewhere that’ll help us figure out how to get back. So I think we just…start looking around?”
Wiley nodded. “Cool. Split halves, front and back?”
Nooo, Adam, don’t split up! Never split up! I know. I can literally hear you screaming it at me. And actually, for once in my life, I considered that something might be a horrible fucking idea before acting on it.
But then I saw something.
As I turned back to respond, Wiley’s eyes shimmered, dancing in the moonlight.
They were silver and mercurial, with no pupils or whites in sight.
Whatever had come back up from underwater, it was not my coworker.
I swallowed, forcing my expression to remain as neutral as I was able and praying whatever was standing in front of me didn’t notice I’d caught on. My entire body was instantaneously covered in chills, in a way that I understood to have the same purpose as a dog’s hackles rising. “Sounds good,” I said. “I’ll take the front.”
I headed in the opposite direction of the thing wearing Wiley’s face (at a pace that I hoped didn’t appear hurried but one that would remove me in a timely manner from the vicinity) and didn’t stop until I’d reached the front of the ship, breathing heavily and attempting to slow my reeling mind.
I didn’t know what to tackle first. I didn’t know where Wiley was, or if they were anywhere—if they were even still alive. I didn’t know what my next move should be. I didn’t know what I was looking for or where I might find it.
It’s rare that I feel utterly hopeless, to the degree that I genuinely contemplate just sitting down and giving up, but in this instance, I thought long and hard about how easy it would be to succumb. I’d let the unthinkable happen. Wiley was gone. No one else had been here with them—there was no one else to blame. Just me. Only me.
…You’ll be glad to know that the self-pity didn’t last long. Embarrassing, honestly.
If I was the only one here, it meant I was the only shot they had at making it out alive. Our version of ‘innocent until proven guilty’ had always been ‘alive until proven dead’ and I wasn’t about to turn my back on the insane streak of luck we’d had up until this point. Not a single one of our lives had been lost, and we’d been in the midst of some absolute shitstorms. There was no reason to believe that right now, tonight, was an outlier. I couldn’t lie down like a sick dog and wonder if Wiley was still out there somewhere, suffering until the bitter, bloody end. I had to find them. By whatever means necessary, as long as it took, I had to find them.
I pushed off the railing before me and spun on my heel, eyes flitting back and forth to assess my options as efficiently as possible, and after a moment, I registered that fitted flush against the large front mast, there was a door.
It was only a sliver, thin and not particularly extraordinary in height, but there was a handle carved roughly into its right side and a set of rust-riddled hinges on its left.
I took about half a second to weigh my options and then reached for it, curling my fingers around the handle and giving it a generous tug.
The hinges, unsurprisingly, complained, but not loudly and not for long. The door gave way with little resistance, and opened up to my worst fucking nightmare.
A set of stairs, descending into blackness.
I mean, I guess if I’m being fair, my first pool encounter had featured a staircase leading to the pool rather than away from it, but I didn’t feel like there could possibly be good news awaiting me below deck of a ship where I’d just encountered a fucking mimic.
Still, though, there was a niggling insistence in my brain (not that kind, come on) that it was my only lead on finding Wiley if they were, in fact, somewhere on board. So I cast one last glance over my shoulder and stepped into the dark, letting the door fall closed behind me.
It smelled different, instantly, from the open air above. Mustier, which was to be expected, but also almost sweet somehow. I tried, unsuccessfully, to shove my true-crime-podcast-addled brain’s helpful reminder that the scent of human death is said to be sweet into a mental lockbox and put my hand to the wall, easing tentatively down to the second step.
The visibility wasn’t just low—it was practically zero. If you’ve ever been on a cave tour and had a guide cut the lights and instruct you to lift your hand to your face to demonstrate the complete absence of light, it was nearly that intense. The placing of both feet on each concurrent stair was an arduous, calculated process, but finally, after approximately one (1) century, I reached flat ground. I still couldn’t see, and there was no definitive way to tell whether I was standing on the floor or just a landing without thoroughly feeling out the space around me, so I reluctantly departed from the wall, scooting my feet in small, tentative motions and keeping both arms partially outstretched before me.
After a (l o n g) moment, I determined that either this was the world’s largest landing or I’d made it all the way down. I had no idea whether I was in a singular, enormous room, or if there were individual cabins, or if I was about to run face-first into the grim fucking reaper.
And then I turned to my left.
There was a light.
It was so, so faint. Flickering. Barely discernible, its warm, gentle glow ever so shyly illuminating the cracks around what appeared to be another closed door.
Being the only visible thing in my line of sight, in any direction, it emitted the aura of both a beacon and an omen.
I headed towards it.
I was about half afraid I was stuck in a horror movie situation where no matter how long I walked it would never grow any closer, but fortunately, that didn’t seem to be the case. I actually gained on it more quickly than I felt I should have for the speed I was moving, but I wasn’t going to complain about reaching the end of the nothingness in commendable time.
I ran my fingertips along the edge of the door and, sure enough, there was a carved-in handle, just like the last.
It opened just as effortlessly, and yellow candlelight rolled dimly out to greet me, lapping at my waterlogged clothes.
“Please,” came a quiet, terrified voice from inside the room. “Please don’t. I don’t know what you want, or–or what you are, but please don’t—”
“...Wiley?”
Rather than calming, the voice’s state of alarm rose to a level bordering on full-blown panic as I took a step into the space. “Please,” the voice begged. There wasn’t anyone visible from my current vantage point, but I could hear it clearly enough to feel fairly confident that the person attached to it—the person who either had to be Wiley or yet another duplicate of them—was close. “Why are you doing this?”
This was a cabin, I thought, or perhaps a study of some sort, with a rotting wooden desk and a decaying leather chair both covered in a flurry of loose, browned book pages and a thick layer of dust. There were candles littering several surfaces, placed in what appeared not to be any intentional manner. Directly to my right, there was a shelf; its back faced me and the odd placement led me to imagine that it may have been employed to block the door at some time.
It was also, I would have just about bet, the source of the voice.
I nudged a couple of planks and a broken amber bottle out of the way with the toe of my shoe, rounding the shelf to find a crumpled, bloodied Wiley, restrained to the floor by a thick, coarse rope fixed expertly to a bolted tie and holding their bound hands up to shield their face.
“Jesus fuck,” I said. “What happened to you?”
Slowly, they lifted their head. “...Adam?”
Realization dawned on me, and I felt my stomach sink. “Look at me,” I told them. “Look at my eyes.”
They did, their own bloodshot and watery and inherently human, and I watched their shoulders deflate, the defense and terror draining from their form. “There’s someone…something…down here. Or, I guess it still is, anyway. I don’t know where it went, but I don’t wanna be here when it comes back.”
I nodded. “It look like me?”
Wiley nodded back.
“Yeah, there’s one of you upstairs. Not real sure what we’re supposed to do about them, but one thing at a time. Let’s get you up from there.”
It was a struggle, disentangling Wiley from the heavy, abrasive leads coccooning their body, but we got there eventually, and throughout the entirety of the arduous process they gave me the rundown on how, when we’d parted from the solace of the platform, something had instantaneously latched onto them, dragging them down deeper and deeper until their ears popped and their head felt like it was going to explode. They said they’d been knocked out by the pressure, and that when they’d come to, already tied in place and coughing up lungfuls of water, “I” had been standing over them, wielding a large net hook and no mercy.
“I knew it wasn’t you, obviously,” they said, “but I didn’t know where you actually were or if something had, like. Hijacked your body? I don’t know. Anyway, let’s get the fuck out of here.”
We grabbed a couple of candles (the majority had simply been melted into place atop whatever surface they’d adorned, but there was a small collection fitted into slightly-too-small brass holders) and got the fuck out.
Being able to see so little in the space around us was almost more disorienting than the pitch darkness I’d been feeling my way through before. It felt as though we were in a fragile, wavering bubble of reality and nothing existed outside of it.
“Wish I’d been awake coming down here,” Wiley remarked. “Guess I still wouldn’t have seen shit, though.”
“I could…maybe get us back upstairs?” I considered, with little to no confidence. “But I don’t really know what good it would do us. Nowhere to go. Maybe we just…look around down here for a bit? See if we can find anything useful?”
“Yeah, okay,” Wiley assented. “But we’ve gotta be quiet. I don’t want that thing to hear us.”
I certainly couldn’t argue with that.
We wandered hesitantly through the dark, shielding the flames of our candles with cupped palms and praying we wouldn’t misstep. We made it some unsubstantiated quantity of time without incident, but softly, after seconds or minutes or hours, we heard a light rustling from the shadow veiled corridor to our right, and Wiley pulled me into the nearest open room in the opposite direction.
Flattening our backs to the wall, we listened intently as footsteps echoed faintly behind us, cyclically growing closer and then further away again for several moments before disappearing altogether.
I let out a breath I hadn’t known I was holding and uncovered my candle, easing the door of the room to a gentle, silent close. The contents of this one were different from that of the last in that there practically weren’t any. It wasn’t just that it was tidier; there was a chest shoved against the wall nearest us and a leatherbound book of some sort lying in the center of the floor, but otherwise the space was vacant.
Wiley moved first, crouching next to the journal and lifting it from the ground, a cloud of dust rising in the wake of their breath. I knelt down beside them, offering my candlelight so they could discard theirs and open the cover.
Beneath which there was a box.
It was a plain, unadorned wooden rectangle, nestled into the carved-out central pages of the book, and we learned upon extracting it that there was no lock or latch, just a seam indicating the lid’s separation from the body.
I don’t need to spell the whole situation out for you. There was a key in the box. The key opened, you guessed it: the chest. Inside the chest, there were piles of gold and jewels beyond your wildest imagination. We’re rich now. The end.
Nah, JK. But the key in the box did open the chest, in which there was, A) a pair of peeling, pleather driving gloves, and B)...
I felt my heart skip.
A bicycle chain.
I’m not going to get into the nuances of that right now, or maybe ever. But for the purposes of dramatic flair, just know that it was incredibly, pointedly relevant to me, on a level so personal it sucker punched the air straight out of my lungs.
“No,” Wiley said, staggering back a step. “Uh-uh. Nope.”
I put together, then, that the gloves must have been their ticket item. “It’s okay,” I said, on autopilot, because it was not. “There’s something—something’s carved into the bottom of this thing.” Pushing past the reaction every fiber of my being had to the sensation of the frigid metal against my skin, I shoved both the chain and the gloves to the side and could scarcely make out a host of crudely scrawled letters in the wavering light of my half-gone candle.
“What is it?” Wiley asked, making no move to come nearer again.
“Though your…hand…? Heart. Though your heart does pound and knees grow…weak,” I deciphered slowly, “Rid yourself by your… That doesn’t make any sense. Shouldn’t it be of? It says ‘rid yourself by your fear’ and…something. Drain the…clin… No. Drink. Drain the drink.”
“Rid yourself by your fear and drain the drink,” Wiley repeated analytically. “The hell does that mean? Is this shit telling us to kill ourselves with the—oh. Oh. Fuck.”
I was not following. “...I’m not following,” I said.
“It is.” Wiley returned to my side, squatting down and nudging me out of the way with their shoulder to peer warily into the trunk. “It’s telling us to kill ourselves, but not these selves. We’re supposed to use…those…to kill our fuckin’ doppelgangers, or whatever they are. That’s how we get rid of the water.”
“Oh,” I echoed. “Fuck.”
We marinated for a moment in silence before Wiley sighed, resigned, and lifted the gloves from the chest, closing their eyes and pulling the fabric snugly over their hands. “Let’s get to work.”

Okay, I’m gonna level with you. Focusing on current events is just getting a little too fucking heavy. I’m no closer to answers than I was a month ago, none of us can sleep through a full night without waking up shaking and drenched in sweat, and there are some new downright bizarre phenomena cropping up that I just don’t have it in me to allot my energy to at the moment.
So, for today’s installment (and then also for the next one) I’m gonna tell you another good ol’ fun-for-the-whole-family pool story. Yep, you heard that right—welcome to our first bonafide two-parter.
This was quite a while ago. My measure of time is all off by a year now, but I feel fairly confident in chalking it up to post-first pool story, pre-ouija board fiasco—so however long ago that’s been now.
It was a weird, rare night, in that Matt was out. Not an unheard of occurrence, but it’s fairly anomalous, and it certainly puts the rest of us on slightly higher alert.
Obviously, he always tells us to call him at the first sign of some shit going down and to use our best judgment to determine whether it’s serious enough to lock up and head out. Better safe than sorry and all that. The night in question was no exception to the rule.
Overall, though, things were mostly quiet. Alice was in, as was I, as was Wiley. We do a lot of congregating, but we do a lot of work, too, and this night, we were all in our respective areas, doing our respective jobs.
I was in my not-office mending a finicky Shakespeare anthology, Alice was watching the desk while working on cataloging a truckload of new donations, and Wiley was replacing several lightbulbs that had all decided to call it quits after our most recent power outage (this one due to a flash-flood).
It was calm to an almost uncharacteristic degree. There was a relatively steady flow of patrons in and out of the building—I could hear Alice greeting them and wishing them a good evening—but as far as anomalous activity, there was none.
It does happen, on rare occasion, that we make it through a full night without any goings on, but there’s almost always at least the odd disembodied voice or two.
We should’ve known better than to trust a meteor shower.
See, there’s just something about natural anomalies. Not just the ones that knock our power out, either, although those are clearly included. Blizzards, thunderstorms, hail and tornados and earthquakes and all your run-of-the-mill destructive shit, sure. But the things of beauty, too. Rainbows. Eclipses, lunar or solar. And you think full moons hit emergency rooms hard? Try this fucking place.
It was just that a meteor shower wasn’t one we’d dealt with before. Does that mean we shouldn’t have known better? Fuck no. Obviously not. But perhaps our collective greatest fault is that we still have some semblance of hope.
Wiley wanted to look at it from the roof. Kid never fucking wants to do anything, and they were set to climb up and camp out alone. I couldn’t not entertain such an innocent, youthful whim.
Our roof access doesn’t have stairs—just a ladder—so Alice couldn’t accompany us, which I felt shitty about, but she assured me it was perfectly fine with her.
“The world decided I didn’t need functional legs so I could never be peer pressured into leaving the ground,” she quipped. “I’m not into heights. But y’all have fun up there. Somebody needs to be here for the patrons anyway.”
Fair and fair. So Wiley and I gathered up an armful of blankets and one of Matt’s trusty camping lanterns and headed out to scale the building.
Wiley went up ahead of me. That was my first mistake.
Really, they aren’t that much younger than I am. Maybe four or five years, and I’m too close to thirty for comfort now. But there’s something about them, even as far as they’ve come, that makes it impossible for me not to do everything in my power to protect them. I think Matt feels the same way. Maybe most of us do.
Anyway, that’s why I immediately started cursing myself when they reached the top of the ladder, pulled their way up and over the ledge of the roof, and said, “...Whoa.”
My second mistake was not immediately telling them to turn around and start climbing right the fuck back down.
I knew exactly what that tone of voice meant. But something in me just kicked into hyperdrive and I…had to see it. Whatever it was, I had to see it for myself.
“Don’t move,” I said, and then, “What is it?”
But by that point, I was at the top, too. I hoisted myself over the ledge and was met with…
…Water.
It was everywhere. Extending in every direction. There was no edge in sight—not even a horizon line. Just vast, dark water as far as the eye could see.
“Okay. This is not—let’s go.”
“Yeah,” Wiley agreed, a little breathless.
I’m sure you’ll be downright shocked to learn that, when we turned around, the ladder was gone.
The edge of the rooftop was, too.
The thing that surprised me, really, was that it wasn’t as though we were standing on some sort of island. We were somehow in the water all of a sudden, up to our waists, neither of us having taken a single step.
“Fucking…shit. Jesus. Adam?”
“We’re fine,” was my default response, because my anxiety override kicks in like a motherfucker as soon as someone else is more openly afraid than I am. “It’s okay, let’s just—let’s think for a second. Maybe it’s just, like, an illusion or something.”
“Okay,” Wiley said. “Maybe we should…try moving?”
“Yeah. Yeah, we’ll bump the ledge and then we can just feel for the ladder. Good idea.”
Wiley and I shared a look, wordlessly nodding to one another, and stepped forward in unison.
Maybe I misspoke before, when I said we weren’t on a platform. It was just that our platform wasn’t above the water. Now, though, there was nothing.
It felt, almost, like the stomach-turning sensation of missing a step walking up a staircase. The only difference was that there was no moment-too-late connection.
We plummeted.
There wasn’t any difference in temperature beneath the surface, which was, in a way, more disorienting than the water itself. The mental recalibration that typically comes with plunging into a cool lake or, adversely, a heated pool wasn’t allotted an opportunity to take place. It felt, for most intents and purposes, the same as being in the air, just that I couldn’t breathe.
It was heavy, too. The weightlessness water tends to embody was null; I immediately abandoned everything I’d been carrying, clawing my way upward frantically enough that it would’ve been mortifying, I’m sure, had anyone witnessed it.
Wiley resurfaced at the same moment I did—empty handed as well, I noted—coughing a little but not to the extent that I was worried they were choking. “Next idea?” they asked, pushing their wet hair back from their face, dark, damp lashes obscuring their eyes.
“Let’s get back on the…” I started, but trailed off when I raised my head.
A couple hundred yards out from us, there was a ship. It was a dark, hulking thing, with tattered sails and something indistinguishable affixed to the bow, glittering and glinting in the moonlight.
Wiley spun around to face it, drifting back slightly when their gaze landed parallel to mine. “What the fuck is that?” they demanded, legs kicking haphazardly beneath the water to keep them in place.
“Maybe it’s…good,” I said. I knew better than that and I knew Wiley did, too, but I said it anyway. “Maybe someone will help.”
They didn’t even humor me with a response to that bullshit.
Now, at this point in the story, maybe you’re thinking being suddenly surrounded by water and watching as an ominous ship approached us with absolutely nowhere to go and no way to escape doesn’t feel quite enough like imminent condemnation. To which I say to you: not to worry. Because the next realization we came to was that the platform we’d been standing on previously had suddenly ceased to exist.
“Shit,” Wiley said. “Shit, shit, shit. Adam.”
“I know,” I said. “It’s fine. We’re fine. We just—we’re gonna—follow me.”
I don’t know. I don’t know what the fuck possessed me to swim toward the Obvious Death Ship. I guess just that there wasn’t anything else save for open water anywhere so it essentially felt like our options were paddle around until we were exhausted and drown or face a quicker, simpler demise.
“You better have a fucking plan, bro,” Wiley intoned from behind me, which I chivalrously pretended not to hear, because I did not, in fact, have a fucking plan.
The closer we drew to the vessel, the more unbelievably monstrous it appeared to become. It loomed above us, casting a shadow over everything in its direct path, and the sinking in my stomach almost convinced me to turn around. Almost.
But then something curled around my ankle. It was slick and strong, and there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that whatever it was could’ve pulled me under and eaten me alive in a fraction of a second.
Luckily for me, it wasn’t interested. It let go as quickly as it had latched on, almost as though it was simply using me as a handrail to move itself along. Still, though, the knowledge that it was there was all the motivation I needed to push forward ever faster. I didn’t say anything—didn’t want to add more fuel to Wiley’s panicked fire—just picked up my pace and swam up to their side.
“There’s a ladder,” they informed me, raising a hand and pointing toward the back half of the ship.
Indeed, there was a ladder. It was a tattered, worn thing, comprised of old, fraying rope and rotting, untreated wooden boards, but it looked composed enough that I figured we could likely make it up if we were swift.
“Bet,” I said. “Let’s go.”
We went.
Up close, the ladder appeared even shoddier than it had when we’d first seen it. I reached out of the water and wrapped my fingers around the rope at the bottom, giving it a hearty tug. To my slight surprise, it held fast.
“I think we’re good,” I told Wiley. “I’ll go up first and tell you what I see.”
“Be careful,” they said, but didn’t protest, just backed up enough for me to get the leverage I needed to hoist myself onto the bottom board.
I climbed warily, overly conscious of every creak of the wood bowing beneath my weight, every groan of the fibers of rope under my hands, but made it without incident to the top.
Once there, I grabbed onto the ship’s edge, lifting my gaze to take in whatever lie before me.
It was…nothing. I mean, it was a ship, obviously. But there wasn’t anything on board. No apparent crew nor cargo nor even a captain manning the helm. Granted, I couldn’t see perfectly, but the moon shone brightly enough that I was fairly confident in my observation that the deck was devoid of anything but its own shiplap floor.
“Hello?” I called, because I wasn’t about to beckon Wiley up if some fucked shit was going to pop out of nowhere the second we made a sound.
Nothing responded. Nothing moved. The ship rocked gently on the impossible water, as silent and vacant as it had been a moment before.
“Good?” Wiley questioned nervously from below me.
“Yeah,” I told them, easing myself off the ladder and down into the confines of the vessel. “Come on.”
They did so tenuously but still more swiftly than I had, climbing aboard and landing next to me with a dampened thunk.
We allowed ourselves the briefest of moments to catch our breath, silently rejoicing in the small win that was having found solace from the pool itself. Not that we had any idea what to do or where to go from here, but at the very least, we weren’t drowning.
“Okay,” I said, clearing the unease from my throat. “I don’t know what good trying to steer this thing would do us—there’s nothing but water no matter where we go. But maybe there’s something here somewhere that’ll help us figure out how to get back. So I think we just…start looking around?”
Wiley nodded. “Cool. Split halves, front and back?”
Nooo, Adam, don’t split up! Never split up! I know. I can literally hear you screaming it at me. And actually, for once in my life, I considered that something might be a horrible fucking idea before acting on it.
But then I saw something.
As I turned back to respond, Wiley’s eyes shimmered, dancing in the moonlight.
They were silver and mercurial, with no pupils or whites in sight.
Whatever had come back up from underwater, it was not my coworker.
I swallowed, forcing my expression to remain as neutral as I was able and praying whatever was standing in front of me didn’t notice I’d caught on. My entire body was instantaneously covered in chills, in a way that I understood to have the same purpose as a dog’s hackles rising. “Sounds good,” I said. “I’ll take the front.”
I headed in the opposite direction of the thing wearing Wiley’s face (at a pace that I hoped didn’t appear hurried but one that would remove me in a timely manner from the vicinity) and didn’t stop until I’d reached the front of the ship, breathing heavily and attempting to slow my reeling mind.
I didn’t know what to tackle first. I didn’t know where Wiley was, or if they were anywhere—if they were even still alive. I didn’t know what my next move should be. I didn’t know what I was looking for or where I might find it.
It’s rare that I feel utterly hopeless, to the degree that I genuinely contemplate just sitting down and giving up, but in this instance, I thought long and hard about how easy it would be to succumb. I’d let the unthinkable happen. Wiley was gone. No one else had been here with them—there was no one else to blame. Just me. Only me.
…You’ll be glad to know that the self-pity didn’t last long. Embarrassing, honestly.
If I was the only one here, it meant I was the only shot they had at making it out alive. Our version of ‘innocent until proven guilty’ had always been ‘alive until proven dead’ and I wasn’t about to turn my back on the insane streak of luck we’d had up until this point. Not a single one of our lives had been lost, and we’d been in the midst of some absolute shitstorms. There was no reason to believe that right now, tonight, was an outlier. I couldn’t lie down like a sick dog and wonder if Wiley was still out there somewhere, suffering until the bitter, bloody end. I had to find them. By whatever means necessary, as long as it took, I had to find them.
I pushed off the railing before me and spun on my heel, eyes flitting back and forth to assess my options as efficiently as possible, and after a moment, I registered that fitted flush against the large front mast, there was a door.
It was only a sliver, thin and not particularly extraordinary in height, but there was a handle carved roughly into its right side and a set of rust-riddled hinges on its left.
I took about half a second to weigh my options and then reached for it, curling my fingers around the handle and giving it a generous tug.
The hinges, unsurprisingly, complained, but not loudly and not for long. The door gave way with little resistance, and opened up to my worst fucking nightmare.
A set of stairs, descending into blackness.
I mean, I guess if I’m being fair, my first pool encounter had featured a staircase leading to the pool rather than away from it, but I didn’t feel like there could possibly be good news awaiting me below deck of a ship where I’d just encountered a fucking mimic.
Still, though, there was a niggling insistence in my brain (not that kind, come on) that it was my only lead on finding Wiley if they were, in fact, somewhere on board. So I cast one last glance over my shoulder and stepped into the dark, letting the door fall closed behind me.
It smelled different, instantly, from the open air above. Mustier, which was to be expected, but also almost sweet somehow. I tried, unsuccessfully, to shove my true-crime-podcast-addled brain’s helpful reminder that the scent of human death is said to be sweet into a mental lockbox and put my hand to the wall, easing tentatively down to the second step.
The visibility wasn’t just low—it was practically zero. If you’ve ever been on a cave tour and had a guide cut the lights and instruct you to lift your hand to your face to demonstrate the complete absence of light, it was nearly that intense. The placing of both feet on each concurrent stair was an arduous, calculated process, but finally, after approximately one (1) century, I reached flat ground. I still couldn’t see, and there was no definitive way to tell whether I was standing on the floor or just a landing without thoroughly feeling out the space around me, so I reluctantly departed from the wall, scooting my feet in small, tentative motions and keeping both arms partially outstretched before me.
After a (l o n g) moment, I determined that either this was the world’s largest landing or I’d made it all the way down. I had no idea whether I was in a singular, enormous room, or if there were individual cabins, or if I was about to run face-first into the grim fucking reaper.
And then I turned to my left.
There was a light.
It was so, so faint. Flickering. Barely discernible, its warm, gentle glow ever so shyly illuminating the cracks around what appeared to be another closed door.
Being the only visible thing in my line of sight, in any direction, it emitted the aura of both a beacon and an omen.
I headed towards it.
I was about half afraid I was stuck in a horror movie situation where no matter how long I walked it would never grow any closer, but fortunately, that didn’t seem to be the case. I actually gained on it more quickly than I felt I should have for the speed I was moving, but I wasn’t going to complain about reaching the end of the nothingness in commendable time.
I ran my fingertips along the edge of the door and, sure enough, there was a carved-in handle, just like the last.
It opened just as effortlessly, and yellow candlelight rolled dimly out to greet me, lapping at my waterlogged clothes.
“Please,” came a quiet, terrified voice from inside the room. “Please don’t. I don’t know what you want, or–or what you are, but please don’t—”
“...Wiley?”
Rather than calming, the voice’s state of alarm rose to a level bordering on full-blown panic as I took a step into the space. “Please,” the voice begged. There wasn’t anyone visible from my current vantage point, but I could hear it clearly enough to feel fairly confident that the person attached to it—the person who either had to be Wiley or yet another duplicate of them—was close. “Why are you doing this?”
This was a cabin, I thought, or perhaps a study of some sort, with a rotting wooden desk and a decaying leather chair both covered in a flurry of loose, browned book pages and a thick layer of dust. There were candles littering several surfaces, placed in what appeared not to be any intentional manner. Directly to my right, there was a shelf; its back faced me and the odd placement led me to imagine that it may have been employed to block the door at some time.
It was also, I would have just about bet, the source of the voice.
I nudged a couple of planks and a broken amber bottle out of the way with the toe of my shoe, rounding the shelf to find a crumpled, bloodied Wiley, restrained to the floor by a thick, coarse rope fixed expertly to a bolted tie and holding their bound hands up to shield their face.
“Jesus fuck,” I said. “What happened to you?”
Slowly, they lifted their head. “...Adam?”
Realization dawned on me, and I felt my stomach sink. “Look at me,” I told them. “Look at my eyes.”
They did, their own bloodshot and watery and inherently human, and I watched their shoulders deflate, the defense and terror draining from their form. “There’s someone…something…down here. Or, I guess it still is, anyway. I don’t know where it went, but I don’t wanna be here when it comes back.”
I nodded. “It look like me?”
Wiley nodded back.
“Yeah, there’s one of you upstairs. Not real sure what we’re supposed to do about them, but one thing at a time. Let’s get you up from there.”
It was a struggle, disentangling Wiley from the heavy, abrasive leads coccooning their body, but we got there eventually, and throughout the entirety of the arduous process they gave me the rundown on how, when we’d parted from the solace of the platform, something had instantaneously latched onto them, dragging them down deeper and deeper until their ears popped and their head felt like it was going to explode. They said they’d been knocked out by the pressure, and that when they’d come to, already tied in place and coughing up lungfuls of water, “I” had been standing over them, wielding a large net hook and no mercy.
“I knew it wasn’t you, obviously,” they said, “but I didn’t know where you actually were or if something had, like. Hijacked your body? I don’t know. Anyway, let’s get the fuck out of here.”
We grabbed a couple of candles (the majority had simply been melted into place atop whatever surface they’d adorned, but there was a small collection fitted into slightly-too-small brass holders) and got the fuck out.
Being able to see so little in the space around us was almost more disorienting than the pitch darkness I’d been feeling my way through before. It felt as though we were in a fragile, wavering bubble of reality and nothing existed outside of it.
“Wish I’d been awake coming down here,” Wiley remarked. “Guess I still wouldn’t have seen shit, though.”
“I could…maybe get us back upstairs?” I considered, with little to no confidence. “But I don’t really know what good it would do us. Nowhere to go. Maybe we just…look around down here for a bit? See if we can find anything useful?”
“Yeah, okay,” Wiley assented. “But we’ve gotta be quiet. I don’t want that thing to hear us.”
I certainly couldn’t argue with that.
We wandered hesitantly through the dark, shielding the flames of our candles with cupped palms and praying we wouldn’t misstep. We made it some unsubstantiated quantity of time without incident, but softly, after seconds or minutes or hours, we heard a light rustling from the shadow veiled corridor to our right, and Wiley pulled me into the nearest open room in the opposite direction.
Flattening our backs to the wall, we listened intently as footsteps echoed faintly behind us, cyclically growing closer and then further away again for several moments before disappearing altogether.
I let out a breath I hadn’t known I was holding and uncovered my candle, easing the door of the room to a gentle, silent close. The contents of this one were different from that of the last in that there practically weren’t any. It wasn’t just that it was tidier; there was a chest shoved against the wall nearest us and a leatherbound book of some sort lying in the center of the floor, but otherwise the space was vacant.
Wiley moved first, crouching next to the journal and lifting it from the ground, a cloud of dust rising in the wake of their breath. I knelt down beside them, offering my candlelight so they could discard theirs and open the cover.
Beneath which there was a box.
It was a plain, unadorned wooden rectangle, nestled into the carved-out central pages of the book, and we learned upon extracting it that there was no lock or latch, just a seam indicating the lid’s separation from the body.
I don’t need to spell the whole situation out for you. There was a key in the box. The key opened, you guessed it: the chest. Inside the chest, there were piles of gold and jewels beyond your wildest imagination. We’re rich now. The end.
Nah, JK. But the key in the box did open the chest, in which there was, A) a pair of peeling, pleather driving gloves, and B)...
I felt my heart skip.
A bicycle chain.
I’m not going to get into the nuances of that right now, or maybe ever. But for the purposes of dramatic flair, just know that it was incredibly, pointedly relevant to me, on a level so personal it sucker punched the air straight out of my lungs.
“No,” Wiley said, staggering back a step. “Uh-uh. Nope.”
I put together, then, that the gloves must have been their ticket item. “It’s okay,” I said, on autopilot, because it was not. “There’s something—something’s carved into the bottom of this thing.” Pushing past the reaction every fiber of my being had to the sensation of the frigid metal against my skin, I shoved both the chain and the gloves to the side and could scarcely make out a host of crudely scrawled letters in the wavering light of my half-gone candle.
“What is it?” Wiley asked, making no move to come nearer again.
“Though your…hand…? Heart. Though your heart does pound and knees grow…weak,” I deciphered slowly, “Rid yourself by your… That doesn’t make any sense. Shouldn’t it be of? It says ‘rid yourself by *your fear’ and…*something. Drain the…clin… No. Drink. Drain the drink.”
“Rid yourself by your fear and drain the drink,” Wiley repeated analytically. “The hell does that mean? Is this shit telling us to kill ourselves with the—oh. Oh. Fuck.”
I was not following. “...I’m not following,” I said.
“It is.” Wiley returned to my side, squatting down and nudging me out of the way with their shoulder to peer warily into the trunk. “It’s telling us to kill ourselves, but not these selves. We’re supposed to use…*those…*to kill our fuckin’ doppelgangers, or whatever they are. That’s how we get rid of the water.”
“Oh,” I echoed. “Fuck.”
We marinated for a moment in silence before Wiley sighed, resigned, and lifted the gloves from the chest, closing their eyes and pulling the fabric snugly over their hands. “Let’s get to work.”

The golden rays of early morning shone into the shelter, landing on the boy’s eyes. This stirred him from sleep and through instinct, he immediately clutched at his chest, making sure it was still there. A small pouch tied to a cord draped around his neck, the reason he embarked on this journey. He crawled from the hovel of branches and dead leaves into the forest. The trees were beginning to shed, and the ground was damp. The dense woods turning light brown. The boy set out to look for food.
Silent and slow, the boy explored the forested basin, bow in hand. There were no signs of anything larger than himself there. No trails, no droppings, nothing that might provide the boy with a meal that would last longer than a few days. Birds would do. So, the boy continued, his gaze focused on the forest canopy. While terrain, weather and people might have changed throughout his journey, hunger was the only certainty.
Some time later, the boy managed to shoot down two scrawny cranes and had them tied around his waist. He spied a swan resting at the banks of the river. It was far, but his father taught him to shoot well. The boy focused, drew in a breath, and loosed the arrow. It grazed the swan’s neck, and struck a rock behind it, flint tip shattering. The swan began twitching on the gravel bank, the indirect strike broke its neck. Before the boy approached the dying bird, he noticed a rustling in the bushes next to it. He stopped and waited. A wild dog emerged, just as cautious as the boy, and slowly padded towards the swan. The boy could see its ribs clearly through the dogs matted fur, its shoulder blades threatening to break through its skin. He let the dog take his kill.
It was raining heavily. The boy decided to make camp inside a deadfall at the banks of the river. The boy sat soaked and shivering next to his fire. As he dried, he dreamt of warmer lands, and of the place he received his gift.
The sun steadily grew warmer. The lands changing from a lush green to dry grass and eventually to dust and cracked rock. The people also changed. They spoke in a language strange to the boy, guiding him with vague gestures and garbled tongues. He stumbled through the desert, trailing behind his guides, accumulating other ragged followers as they went. Then he saw it. Just along the shimmering horizon was a blot of green atop a hill. A beacon in the desert calling out to lost pilgrims seeking to gain its knowledge.
As the weary group approached the high perched temple, the dry winds carried the stench of rotting flesh. Bodies lay strewn on the sand, swarmed by countless vultures. Their decaying flesh being ripped from the bone by great hooked beaks, their bones to be returned in time to that sacred place atop the hill. Like the wilderness surrounding it, the temple’s rites embodied all aspects of life; With death being a necessity for birth and growth.
The boy plunged his face into the natural spring at the gates of the temple, wetting his parched throat and blistered face. A plant grew around the spring, and it grew like no other plant the boy had ever seen. Lines were dug into the earth, allowing water to flow through impossibly straight rows of tall grass. He knew that this was the reason he was sent here.
The days grew longer and longer, with more and more travellers arriving at the oasis. The boy was sitting in the large camp of strangers and the sun had reached its highest point of the year when they were summoned into the temple.
The boy surveyed the cavernous hall, perplexed. A juxtaposition of the natural and artificial. The large room was composed of straight lines and sharp angles, yet etched into the stone was lifelike depictions of the desert fauna; Foxes chasing rabbits, herds of wild horses running along the walls of the room, and in the centre a mighty pillar carrying the image of a large vulture, its magnificent wings spread, scythe beak turned to the side on full display.
The ceremony began with the beating of drums echoing off the high walls. A large stone basin was brought before the audience. With elegant movements, the temple’s residents poured soil into the basin. A human bone was ground up, the bleached white powder scattered onto the soil. They produced seeds from small pouches hung around their necks and buried it in the basin’s loose mixture. Next, they poured that life giving water from the spring onto the soil and began to dance around the room. The boy’s eyes traced their swirling and noticed the moon carvings on the walls. Waxing and waning stone circles. This dance was the passage of time. Each lap of the hall representing months. All while the seed waited in damp soil.
The boy and his fellow travellers were ushered out of the hall and were led to the spring with the strange grass. The grass was cut from the ground and beaten against a flat rock releasing its grain, the stalks being cast aside. The grain was ground down, mixed with water, and baked over a fire. The audience feasted on this new food, along with all manner of desert beasts and a thick liquid that made the boy feel dizzy. The boy hadn’t feasted so much in his entire life. But food wasn’t the gift he had come all this way to receive, at least not in this form. When it was time for them to leave the temple, each group of travellers were presented with a small pouch much like those the dancers wore. The families rejoiced at receiving this benevolent gift, the boy received his gift alone.
The land was dusted with frost, cold winds funnelled through the mountain pass biting at the boy’s skin. Occasionally he would glance behind him, spotting the same wild dog watching from behind a rock or quickly running out of sight. It had been trailing behind him ever since he had shot down that swan.
The boy paused for a moment, then quickly ducked down behind a mound of loose stone. There was a clearing in the woods below, and noises. Speech. A group began to enter the clearing. A band of young men, around the boys age, carrying spears and clubs, wearing the skins of great beasts. He had heard of such people from some of the pilgrims in the desert. Boys sent out into the wilderness, tasked with killing a creature stronger than them, wearing its skin, and returning as men. The boy could hear them from far up the mountain ridge. No doubt the animals in that forest did too. The rear of the line finally emerged into the clearing. They were dragging along women bound at the wrist. Stripped bare, some younger than the boy, some with hair beginning to grey. Most had distended bellies hanging from skeletal frames wholly unsuited for the burden of pregnancy. The boy waited; Still frozen in place long after the party had disappeared back into the treeline. When he could only hear the natural sounds of the forest once more, he rose to his feet and looked up at a path further up the mountain. The wide eyes of the dog stared back at him, waiting for the boy to move ahead so that it too could stand up and continue its journey.
As time passed, the land grew a thick coating of snow. Food was even harder to come by now, yet with each kill he would leave a small pile of refuse some way away from his camp. It would always be gone by the next morning. He didn’t see the dog much. It was a careful companion, and rightfully so. The boy had noticed the dog’s belly swelling over time; It would have pups any day now.
Amongst the snowcapped trees the boy found a glacial lake. Shimmering blue reflecting the cloudless winter sky above it. He would be able to fish here, possibly enough to last him the remainder of the journey. He didn’t know how close he was. He thought he recognised the land surrounding him, yet the drifting snow made him uncertain. He made camp in a small cove along the lakeshore, weaving basket shaped traps and leaving a pile of slightly damp wood for a fire later.
The boy paced along the water, dropping traps where forest streams fed the lake. While he waited, he chipped at the edges of his knife, dull stone flaking off to reveal a hidden sharp edge. The traps hadn’t caught as many as he’d hoped, but it’d keep him fed, and that was enough. After gutting the fish with his newly renovated knife and draping them over the smoky fire to dry, he walked a little bit further down the shore and left a pile of offal. He placed a whole fish at the top, for the pups.
Back at the camp he stripped down, leaving the small pouch tucked in a crevice for safekeeping. It was a while since he bathed, but it wasn’t raining now, and he had a fire to dry off next to. He made his way back to the edge of the water and looked down, gazing at his reflection in the water. It revealed someone unrecognisable to the boy, pale goose pimpled skin stretched over a wiry frame, more bone than muscle. Hair also began to sprout on his upper lip, this journey had changed him.
He tread the freezing water until his feet began to go numb and the sun began to set. As he emerged from the lake, he noticed that the pile of guts was left untouched. No matter, it would be gone by tomorrow. With shaky steps he went back to the camp, barricading the entrance with stones and fallen branches to keep the heat in. He sat next to the fire clutching the gift around his neck, hoping he would see his family again soon.
A sharp gust of wind entered the cove, waking the boy up. Through sleep blurred eyes he saw figures standing over him. He shot up, spun to the entrance, and saw them clearly. The pelt hunters. The eldest stood before him, a cloak of thick sandy coloured fur slung over his shoulder, grinning with teeth that were beginning to brown. An unseen blow struck the side of the boy's head, and he went back to sleep.

Today I went to the place
We walked, danced and ate in
Laughed and cried in
We were happy and we were sad in
The place we hold hand in
We kissed and hugged in
The place we pulled our car in
The place we could stay in for hours
The place we sat anywhere in
The place i go to your car in
The place we gathered with your friends in
The place you bought me food in
The place we gossiped about people in
The place we made plan in
The place you promised me so many thing in
The place i died for to go in every day just to see u
The place you said lets not go there so much people will talk about you
The place we waited for each other to go out in
The place we wanted to be that day of the week to go there and pull and go out in
The place i pulled my car in every time we went
somewhere in your car
The place i ride bicycle in and you hated it
The place i cried in your arm in
The place you made me go in your lap i was
uncomfortable in
The place we walked in rain
The place we had our first dinner and car date
The place you showed me my birthday gift and
Your valentine voice record gift
The place i gave you your birthday and valentine gift too
The place you surprised me with caffe late
The place i surprised you with date in
The place you gave me your things you bought me in
The place i loved it because of you
The place that we saw each other in for the last time we were both bored and sad in.
The place that every step tell about US
The US that no more exists
today i walked in there
But alone. Broke. Sad.
I did not know how to feel
It was strange i don’t know
It somehow felt weird
it felt like home
Like a warm blanket
I wish i could turn back time and told myself
To not be so in hope
To not be so in love
To not show so much love
So much beg
So much accepting disrespect
I wish i could stop myself and say
He dont deserve your beautiful heart.
I wish i could told myself to never come here
To stop making wasted memories.

Grieving

Reddit Account: u/spyraxes
Discord Tag: spyraxes
Name and House: Visenya Targaryen
Age: 54
Cultural Group: Valyrian
Appearance: Visenya is a woman covered head to toe in striking features. With silver-gold hair worn braided or bound, allowing herself easy motion and vision in combat, purple eyes that stare from a harsh face with deep cheekbones and stern expressions, the Bloody Queen is a dominant figure in courtly and martial situations. Some say she bathes in blood to keep her youth, others that her rigorous training and love for battle keeps her body fit. Whatever the case, Visenya is a unique and unsettling woman.
Trait: Strong
Skill(s): Dragonrider, Swords (e), Essosi Blademaster (e)
Talent(s): Training, Glaring, Thinking Deeply About Things
Negative Trait(s): too cool
Starting Title(s): Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, Lady of Mooncrest, Mother of the True King, the Bloody Queen, Wielder of Dark Sister, Rider of Vhagar
Starting Location: Opening Event
Alternate Characters: jesus christ its day 1 dont make me alt please!
Name and House: Marsella Egen
Age: 24
Cultural Group: Valeman
Appearance: Marsella is as cold-faced as her Queenly mistress, though more prone to smiles creeping through. She is tall, broad-shouldered, with a powerful build shaped by years of training and journeying the realm. Her hair is red and cut short, her face scarred and her green eyes deep-set and surrounded by scars.
Trait: Hale
Skill(s): Two-Handed Weapons (e), Brute
Talent(s): Dancing, Drinking, Gambling
Negative Trait(s): n/a
Starting Title(s): Sworn Sword to Lae Targaryen, Heir to Mooncrest, Cavalier
Starting Location: Opening Event
—

Bio-Timeline

• 29 BC - Visenya Targaryen is born, the first child of Aerion Targaryen, Lord of Dragonstone, and his wife Valaena Velaryon.
• 27 BC - Only a few years later, the boy who would later become the Conqueror, Aegon Targaryen, is born. His betrothal to Visenya is arranged almost the moment he is swaddled.
• 25 BC - Rhaenys Targaryen, youngest of the trio, joins the family. She is the last Targaryen born before the Conquest.
• 21 BC - Visenya begins to train with Lord Quenton Qoherys, Master-at-Arms of Dragonstone, and shows exceptional skill at arms. Later on, Aegon and Rhaenys both join her in practising their swordplay. Visenya always seems to get an edge, despite their shared significant skill.
• 14 BC - Between training sessions, Visenya finds herself exploring quiet places on Dragonstone. It is during one of these outings that she comes across one of the island’s non-human occupants. Vhagar, one of the smaller dragons on the island, bonds quickly with her. It takes a few months of bonding, but Visenya quickly becomes close to the beast - and soon enough she becomes its one and only rider.
• 9 BC - As arranged many years before, Aegon and Visenya wed. It is a marriage of duty, but all know Aegon holds love for his younger sister over the elder. Visenya holds no resentment. She knows duty and love cannot always intermingle, but she will do hers.
• 7 BC - Rhaenys and Aegon marry two years later in a pivot from tradition. Visenya spends more time with Vhagar and less with her siblings in the wake of it, though her love for Aegon does not dull. She remains close with the pair even with her physical distance.
• 2 BC - After a while of planning and plotting, the three Targaryens fly forth to conquer Westeros. House Stokeworth fell to Vhagar’s flames, and Duskendale knelt to the Queen after the fall of their army in Aegon’s first test. With the lands that would later become the core of Targaryen dominion secured, Aegon was crowned King of All Westeros, a crown placed atop his head by his elder sister and his title proclaimed by his younger. As the Stormlands fall to Rhaenys, and Harrenhal to Aegon, Visenya finds herself tasked with the conquest of the Vale. After destroying the region’s fleet, though not without losing a large portion of the Targaryen navy itself, Visenya circles back to Blackwater Bay, landing in Crackclaw Point and accepting the oaths of fealty of the local lords in the wake of Harrenhal’s destruction. With the Claw pacified, Visenya flies to join her siblings once more. They take a smaller force to the Reach, to meet an army of the Gardeners and Lannisters in battle. Nearly through dragonfire alone, the armies of Reach and West crumble, House Gardener nearly becomes extinct, and House Lannister kneels to the new royal house. Visenya receives an injury in the battle, taking an arrow to the shoulder, but it does nothing to hamper her skill.
• 1 BC - In the wake of the Field of Fire, Visenya retreats to the Aegonfort to recover from her injury. It does not take long for her to return to action, though, joining her siblings at the Trident to await the arrival of a Northern host led by the King of Winter. Visenya has no qualms with burning every Northman who wishes to cross the river, but Torrhen’s surrender is a move she views as wise. With the northern border secure, Visenya deals with her only loose end once and for all. On dragonback, she travels to the Eyrie as the Queen Regent of the Vale amasses an army, her attempt to arrange a marriage between herself and Aegon a failure. Visenya’s arrival is met by the young King, who sits himself up on her lap to await Sharra Arryn’s arrival. When she turns up, Ronnel asks to fly on dragonback - and that is enough to make Sharra capitulate, handing over the crown of Mountain and Vale to the dragonrider. Visenya’s act of mercy endears her to the young king and his mother, who becomes a close companion of Visenya in later years.
• 1 AC - With the Conquest brought to an end, besides the Dornish and the Ironborn homeland, the royal family fly to Oldtown to witness the crowning of Aegon I Targaryen, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm. To gain the sympathies of the people, the Targaryens convert to the Faith of the Seven - though Visenya holds fast to her Valyrian beliefs behind closed doors, unwilling to abandon her heritage to please those who she conquered. With Aegon’s victory, King’s Landing’s construction becomes the focus of the realm. For a while, anyway. During this initial period of peace, one attempt is made on the life of the King, with Visenya putting down the assassins. Aegon believes his guards are more than sufficient usually, and she proves him wrong by opening up his cheek with the tip of Dark Sister before any of his men can respond. Not long after, Ser Corlys Velaryon is named Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, and six knights are selected to join him in an act honouring the false gods of Westeros.
  • Far from the capital, in Mooncrest, a daughter is born to Lord Lyn Egen and his wife. She is named Marsella.
• 2 AC - Once again, the peace is fractured. House Sunderland resumes their rebellion against House Arryn and the Crown, and the Ironborn continue to war with Westeros as a whole. Whilst Aegon deals with the raiders to the west, the Queen flies north and puts down Queen Marla Sunderland and her rebels, turning the hold of House Sunderland and the entire line to ash, naming House Borrell as overlords of the Sisters, and bidding them swear fealty to House Stark of Winterfell in place of the young Lord Arryn. Before returning to King’s Landing, she takes a quick stop at the Eyrie to berate the Lady Regent for her negligent handling of the situation - though she leaves with a far more forgiving stance, and perhaps a touch of regret for her harsh decision.
• 3 - 7 AC - Visenya assumes a position in the royal court enforcing Aegon’s will, assisting the Kingsguard in protecting him from attacks, and providing an intimidating presence for those who would overstep their bounds. She maintains contact with the Arryns of the Vale, letters flying back and forth to keep her friendship with the Lady Regent alive. She gives and receives advice, whiles away time writing, and promises to visit.
• 7 AC - At a feast to celebrate the seventh anniversary of the Conquest, during one of Rhaenys’ visits to Dorne, the King is attacked. Goldcloaks perform the assassination attempt in great numbers, and the force of Visenya and the Kingsguard isn’t enough to stop them from getting to Aegon and wounding him. Despite their failure to protect him, the fight ends in royal favour as Ser Malwyn Blackwood takes some of the assailants captive and Visenya tends to the fallen king. He is unresponsive but alive, and Orys promises to take care of him whilst the prisoners are interrogated. Reluctantly, the Queen agrees. It does not take long for the truth to be revealed - that House Tully of Riverrun plotted the attack, in an attempt to kill the King. It seemed unlikely that they would fail, in the end, but Visenya refused to let them see their day of victory. Only she is told, and she acts immediately, leaving the city on the back of Vhagar and heading towards Riverrun with only one objective in mind. When she reaches the castle, there is little hesitation - fire envelops the people and the structures, turning all to ash. No Tully survives, in her reckoning, and she takes the signet ring of Lord Edmyn as proof of her victory and their failure. Naming the land Aegon’s Rest, she pens a writ bestowing it upon Baelor Belaerys, a man in her husband’s service and descendant of dragonlords of old, and names Lord Lannister the overlord of the territory. She returns to King’s Landing, but her visit does not last long - when Aegon’s death is confirmed, and the Master of Laws reveals the plans to split governance three ways, she leaves for the Vale almost immediately. She only stays around long enough to have her pregnancy confirmed - an heir to the throne.
• 7 - 10 AC - It doesn’t take long for Visenya to arrive at the Eyrie, welcomed in her grief by Sharra and her children. She is visibly pregnant, and her small retinue settles in well. Most of her time is spent with the Lady Regent and the children, and the birth of her first child - who she names Laenor - is no deterrent from that. In fact, it often seems that Visenya has more affection for her host’s children than her own. She becomes almost a second mother to the Lord of the Eyrie and his three siblings. Despite her closed-off nature, she finds a constant companion in Sharra Arryn, and becomes as close to friends as she can with many others present in the castle including Lord Lyn Egen, an advisor to the Lady Regent. She splits her time between training, flying, the children, and her own heir.
• 10 AC - Ronnel Arryn comes of age, and is wedded to Serena Stark. It is an arrangement made by Rhaenys, one that infuriates Visenya to no end initially. She becomes irate at Sharra, but quickly turns around and accepts it. Their relationship remains warm and close. However, nearing the end of the year, Sharra dies. Once more, Visenya retreats into herself, spending most of the days in the sky on Vhagar’s back alone. She is convinced to return to life by the Arryn children, and continues to raise them into adulthood. Without Sharra, it is a harder task, but one she confronts all the same.
• 13 AC - Despite their devotion to the Seven, gods Visenya only considered to be hers in name, the formation of the Cavaliers brings joy to the Queen in the Mountains. She places her support behind the order, continuing her return to public life within the Vale. She takes on the duty of training the daughter of her good friend Lord Egen, teaching young Marsella how to fight. Despite their difference in weaponry - Visenya’s preference for smaller longswords versus Marsella’s for large hefty greatswords - the two get along fiercely well.
• 15 AC - When news of the tragedy in the Kingswood reaches the Eyrie, Visenya sends her condolences to the regent for the deaths under his watch. There is something cold about the way it is written.
• 16 AC - News of Dorne’s integration into the Seven Kingdoms pleases her no more than the Kingswood Catastrophe, especially when the stipulation upon which it happened is made known to her. Unwilling to dishonour the deal, Visenya ensures that she has it in writing that Laenor will one day marry the Princess of Dorne’s daughter, but she is irate over Rhaenys’ move - but also a little proud of her younger sister for outmanoeuvring her.
• 19 AC - After a long period of courting and an even longer period of talking, a wedding is held at Mooncrest between Visenya Targaryen and Lord Lyn Egen. There is jubilation, a tournament, a grand feast, and perhaps the first real smile on the lips of Visenya since the death of Sharra Arryn. It is proof that there is still a drop of the old Visenya beneath the cold, disconnected surface, that very few see. It is not the end of ceremony for the Egens in that year, as Marsella is inducted into the Cavaliers. She is sworn to protect Laenor Targaryen, too, her sibling and friend.
• 20 AC - Early in the year, after a prolonged illness, Lyn’s eldest daughter Carolei passes. There is sorrow in Mooncrest, but it is solved in part by good news. Just a year and a bit after their wedding, Visenya and Lyn’s first and only child is born, a young girl named Maegelle. She is Lyn’s third daughter, second living, and only one present in Mooncrest - Marsella left a note in the wake of her sister’s death that she was taking some time for herself in Essos and would be back when she viewed it right. Some wonder if she is participating in Orys’ plans to create closer relations with Essos, but the Egens know that is unlikely - Marsella cares little for politics and less for the enemies of her father’s wife.
• 20 - 25 AC - Visenya and Lyn remain quiet at Mooncrest and the Eyrie, engaging in politics and plotting and regular court life (moreso for the latter than the former), as Laenor becomes more and more shaped into the ruler they’re meant to become. Meanwhile, across the Narrow Sea, Marsella becomes more grizzled a warrior, serving with the Lost Legion before their arrival in Westeros, meeting the Blue Sails and their leader Helya Harlaw and joining them briefly, and taking on mercenary work across the Free Cities and the Disputed Lands for anyone who would pay for a Westerosi warrior. Her contact with Mooncrest is limited, bearing only a few words attached to packages for Laenor alone.
• 25 AC - As Laenor comes of age, and the realm at large is summoned to King’s Landing to celebrate the namedays of her and Rhaenys’ children, Visenya prepares for the worst - her sister will not move aside easily, and she knows well enough that Rhaenys might have to be forced. But there is no doubt in her mind that she is ready for it - she just prays the realm is to join her. From the East, Marsella returns, ready to see her kin and friends for the first time in half a decade. She is not the same woman she once was.

—

Family Tree

House Egen
House Targaryen
—

Supporting Characters

Lord Lyn Egen - b. 24 BC - Archetype: General - Wise and a touch ferocious, Lyn is a skilled commander and a protective father, ready to do whatever he can to protect his daughters and Visenya’s own child. Skilled enough with a sword but more comfortable ahorse or behind a commander’s desk, the man who served as Keeper of the Gates of the Moon during the Conquest and was ready to cut his teeth against dragonfire now acts as the most loyal and proud follower of the very Queen who conquered his lands, his own wife.
Lorra Egen - b. 6 AC - Archetype: Builder - Despite the martial inclination of much of House Egen, Laenor is not the only occupant of Mooncrest who has grasped numbers well. Lorra Egen is a skilled mathematician in her own right, left in charge of the finances of the castle when her distant step-kin isn’t there to run them, and often assisting them in doing so. She is prim and proper and prone to judgement, but she is kind at heart. No niece of Lyn Egen would survive not being so, in truth.

Hi everyone, long time lurker here and I have no friends to talk this out with so I really need some help. I’m pretty set on the fact I have to leave my long term (8 years) bf if I’m ever going to be myself and happy. I’m a list girlie so please take a look and just say what comes to your mind because I feel like I’m losing mine trying to accept it. TIA Reasons I think I’m a lesbian:

• my posters on the wall were always women unless it was a gay man
• always just wanted to spend every minute of every day with my best friend in school even if I had a boyfriend,making up excuses to leave my bf’s house to go be with my bsf
• feeling so protective over my best friends that no man even if they were a good person was good enough for them/didn’t know them as well as I do
• always buying/making gifts for my girl friends but never feeling the urge to do that for boyfriends
• crying when my friends would get a boyfriend
• giving my friends lap dances like all the time
• feeling weird and creepy being in the same changing room as the girls
• always being very passionate and emotional about gay rights/arguing with people who were homophobic or even made slightly homophobic jokes
• being able to have sex with men with no attachment at all but kissing a girl and being so overwhelmed with feelings that I got scared and distanced myself from her
• not crying over boyfriends breaking up with me
• not even crying when my ex bf cheated on me
• recurring dream of getting married to a woman since I was a teenager
• finding it so easy to flirt with men but getting very nervous and flustered and blushing talking to women even in a friendly way
• choosing to have crushes on guys that the girls I liked had a crush on so we could talk about it together
• having sex with men just because they wanted me and it felt nice to be desired by them/out of pity/to not seem like a bitch or a prude
• crying for weeks when I found out my best friend was pregnant because when she would sleepover we would kiss each other so I like loved her and I didn’t realise she was just messing around
• being overly sexual around men/talking a lot about loving dick and loving having sex with men because I felt the need to convince others
• trying to convince my bf to have a threesome with a woman
• secretly watching lesbian shows/movies/content creators
• crying every time I saw a tiktok about lesbians getting married
• being scared to even open tiktok in front of my bf
• getting incredibly defensive every time my bf joked about me being a lesbian
• noticing and being enamoured by pretty women in public but not even noticing men at alll
• having to close my eyes during sex otherwise I cry
• having to be stoned to have sex and having to smoke straight after sex to decompress
• not wanting to be affectionate/cuddle/show pda with my boyfriend and being called ‘cold’ when I know I’m not that person
• writing this list 5 times in the past 7 years