Thicker Than Blood 2

The problem with a family is that it always becomes a tumbling pair of cards and ignorance which always seems to be fluttering with ignorance and snarky remarks, because if you don’t fit the misery a person wants you to achieve in their heads, they will always ask how does it feel to have it. It’s like if they give you a plant and you told them you threw it out, they will ask how is the gardening, because they cannot see you as anything else other than a gardener. 

We drive past a huge house, all snow neatly put in piles with sledges outside, windows opened to revealed the rich inside and I would tell myself one day and houses like such always reveal women in the kitchen, hairs in a sloppy ponytails pushed down by housework and I always wondered what emotional value do they even hold and would the house be just an excuse to accept life and such houses end up reminding me of Alison's how you exterior will look lovely but looking inside at the end of the well you'll always see misery of a working or not housewife and I don't even know what to say to such women until my empathy is gone and I recall their heated speeches and child abuse. Jack glances back at it and then back at me. He holds my shoulder. I should really stop rambling somehow. The nicest house on the street will always belong to the one with the most misery. And will end up looking down upon the rest for the rest have not sold their soul for it.

I wondered if I could ever be honest with myself. If I could look at her in the eye again and how would it even feel, knowing that the ground beneath me would never make her happy, that she would always look down and how bitter she will be once she will finish sucking on her regret to tell me that she hates my hair, how I should look more masculine and how I should finally find a woman because the family wants more children as if her being a nursery isn’t enough.

And it’s not just her who suffered at the divorce and that Christmas becomes something in two households with puppet shows of me being alone and then crying under the covers to Jack, it’s not the first Christmas he’s been over but it’s the first where we stop lying and at a higher age. And I’d manage to have toxic relationships until Jack picked me up, forgetting what even divorce was by the time I woke up and I knew what I’d be doing with the man besides me and that I had been gay apparently.

Not only it holds with Alison being the abusive sister but it ends up being a card game with the rest of the family, who I have no idea how would they even react of me locking lips with Jack before telling or not. Jack being calm becomes even more annoying because he doesn’t worry with his family being sorted right now and mine is the one with all of them on the treadmill as if we’re running somewhere. 

When it comes to even discussing it in your head, it becomes torture even playing it backwards. And we keep driving as I don’t even know to properly jumble all my feelings together, watching Jack and even wondering how does the world even properly work, not even trying to think much of the family, which some had had their suspicions and everyone just remained hush, at least dad did, stating that it’s far best to keep this from my sister at all costs, since then Alison would blame everyone for even having me much later than her that it was all the root of all problems. 

Worrying wasn’t helping as it just seemed everything worse and tiring, as if I were there already. And it wasn’t as if I was the only one, just that people prefer not to talk about it, people think if you’re white and gay you’ve got it easy, but it’s far from that, but hey what’s not trendy won’t be talked about and people will forget all the hunts and tragedies about being a gay bloke. No one talks about how the conversation will be raised and no one talks that not everyone accepts and some just ignore those programmes which should be beneficial to one to understand that being gay is okay. I still don’t understand how people find it to be okay, as I open the window and me and Jack don’t speak for a good while, as he allows my inner turmoil to be eaten away by the caterpillar of fear, before he’ll end up killing it with conversation.

I am thankful for the silence, as I know everything he’s thinking and so does he. I wish we had an open car I could climb out of, but instead there is nothing but the AC barely working over the heater and it becomes far too hot, and we end up quickly stopping in the middle of the woods, opening every single window, nagging that we should’ve fixed it before, speaking of inner turmoil slowly, how it seems to start crossing my mind that perhaps it’s far from the best of ideas. It becomes fun to see all the trees become naked and throw inkful patterns on the skies, slashing it, giving it a dead eerie feel, as I would be on a sledge, my dad dragging me when I was a child, before my parents had divorced and I wondered if I could ever put all of this to paper and become a Xavier Dolan somehow, nagging about said family and I even wondered how much would I even change. What would I even tell? I could barely form sentences as we drove even further and the woods were peculiar but all I would do was concentrate on the music and know how deep dipped in the night everything always was here. 

We end up making it there by deep night when it’s just a bit past six o’clock and the house is more than a sole reminder of what Christmas is like and as we were approaching, Jack suggesting stopping to even discuss everything more, but I had wanted to get over it more than anything to see Alison and my parents as soon as possible and find the right words somehow to utter and even sell. 

Walking to the door becomes a small nightmare from all the fallen snow, even if a lot of it was taken care of, the night still brings it tucked in as if candy canes which no one wants by the end of February with their classic peppermint flavor, no one wanted the snow anymore maybe besides Santa and my own mother. I end up knocking, seeing mom and dad pull me into a harsh hug, Alison still not seen as I feel my body slowly start shaking and all I can mutter is that indeed, Jack will be here.

“So, Jack you’re spending Christmas with us, again, then?” My dad grins and I wonder how forgetful can you be when I came out as queer once and so had Jack been mentioned in this sly conversation I once had the guts to even utter. All was regretted from my end and apparently forgotten from his. 

“Yeah, I will be.” And he quickly glances at me, as I quickly shrug and nod, allowing him to say anything since Alison is nowhere to be seen anyway. “Yeah, me and Jamie do spend Christmases together always.”

Jack quickly grabs my hand for my dad to quickly see, before I discard it, as I start hearing a baby scream and Alison appears in the doorway, already cooing at me, her little brother. I feel my whole body even shake, recalling her words, locking the door and calling me a faggot and I know that if Jack doesn’t speak we will end up kissing each other on the cheek under the mistletoe and silently opening crackers because I didn’t have the faith for even Jack to say something. All I can think is of her glossy fake eyes. 

-

I guess I not only found it hard to write because it's rather personal even if I've twisted many details around and around, but I've been ill so my energy has been drained, but even when you're ill you have needs for your sanity and mental health and writing is one of them for me. I kind of really wanted this chapter out, so I ended up realizing that it's not November and there are no word wars going on, just nanowrimo sprints which are fab. By the way I'm always up for a word war if you're up for it xD So I ended up doing those whenever any of them were on twitter, so yeah, so everyone needs some facilitation from while to while really:)

There's a big house if you walk down our neighborhood and it's a lovely house and what stood out was seeing a literally destroyed by life housewife with nothing glamorous about the house and that kind of struck a familiar cord to me, kind of going back to those discussions if money can actually buy you happiness, because that house is gorgeous. And that inspired me since that echoes with what I write about and my own personal experiences and I remember I was listening to Interpol writing that paragraph as I was walking back home. I get a kick out of walking in neighborhoods and seeing stories unfold really.

This story has always been personal, so there's not much to add and it's odd to state but I do want to sometimes hold back on this story and state what is based of real events and what is not, like the emotional abuse is based off my own since I had to keep my mouth shut for years and since people erase female on male abuse, so yeah.

So unfortunately the back story is short here, because I'm so vocally explicit here on everything and I don't want to go saying, oh, I thought of that, I based that off real events because everything mostly is, the parents not as much, but it is a focus on siblings and that's what I wanted to address.

Jack is heavily based off Callie here and her reactions, attitude towards me, not always, but I guess what for me is a supportive partner and how she sees everything unfold. So there's that. 

I hope you enjoyed it and thank you

<3

Jamie

Settle A Quarrel 4

The anxiety spreads onto the sheets we lay and on all the men we are infidel with, turning back to the other and watching each other’s curves and how the wrinkles are supposed to grow and how ages catch up on one or the other, who diets and who had drank enough caffeine, who had bought eyeshadow the last week and who leans in for a kiss. And it all became a struggle where the love is overworn and the taste similar to gum which I’ve been chewing for an hour straight is what she would tell me, but it was like a song on an never ending loop, only she’s the one leading in her heels, my flats always thrown out, my height never showing the dominance and her bony figure adapted to the diet and the jealousy spread out and no longer we greet each other in airports.

So the question is why do we even try?

How can you even try when the person you love the most isn’t the one who does back and it’s not a question of polyamory or her own fidelity, but herself as she raises from the bathtub and she wraps herself in the towel, is about to leave the room and curses, hastily opening every drawer for a box of cigarettes I presume and soon enough I wrap myself in a different one and we get her cigarettes as she lights one for herself. Her own hate and love dwells in her eyes. 

“I don’t even know what I want myself.”

“Maybe that is your problem.” And we would take the bracelets off, but we don’t. It’s been too many years and the gum still tastes. 

“Yet you are the person which will buy the right amount of roses for the dead.” She snarls as we wait for our bodies to dry naturally, never sharing the cigarette, just letting the smoke intertwine without any of us touching our natural attractions, never letting ourselves burn together with the sole belief that we can do this alone and that a lit cigarette is a lost life and we’ve lost ours. 

I think love doesn’t go lifeless, so what is the feeling that we had killed? Is it some curse or disaster due to difference?

Watching her smoke feels like I’ve got the recipe for disaster, that I know what to do and who to pull. That all her charm had been whispered by confidence with the love I once held, just as she had smoked, looking differently and wrapping her in covers just to reveal herself young and confused now.

I wish I had known more but many things are solely beyond my reach, more simple actions taking place than average thinking of where to go and what to say.

It’s loving a person that never was. Maybe you can’t fall in love with a person if you change them for your lonely needs. I feel as if I had been doing an experiment of enforcing John Rymer to be female and I shudder, how I had gone around speaking of her gender, because she had mused on it only for her in years to shove that we had been a girl/boy band to my own irony, as if everyone who I had known had gone back tp their assigned gender, killing off the persona they had been with me. 

The death of Nancy Boy had spread out in some more vile death of androgyny, because I had been far too angry and my choice of medication had numbed out everything at the time to make me seem harmless and to proceed doing somersaults and feeling the world at my feet only to realize that it was never seeing who I had love but the confusion of the self. Dismantling everyone including myself to see one’s misery and lack of life. Maybe I had been the lifeless one, wondering how much had I wasted own’s life?

Fear of not knowing what was happening was even deeper and would strike the bone far more than expected, it was no longer numbness due to a dream, but the harsh jaw of reality giving one’s problems. 

Sex becomes more of a mind’s chore if you dissociate yourself from it, if you even close your eyes on yourself, you’re your own enemy for allowing yourself not to feel anything and gain no pleasure. 

It’s so obscure that it seems to boil down to gender, because I’m not the one calling the shots anyway, if she were to speak of the differences, it would be Alison rather than myself these days, because I had decided that a bad peace is better than cutting each other off and this waltz was no longer a waltz at all. 

We will never admit the love we’ve had, because nothing goes away, we all leave traces whether it’s in someone’s heart, ashtray or land. And love will spring into branches of regrets because it becomes up to us to actually like the love we have or not. You’ll never stop the grass from growing, but you can always pretend it never exists and as long as you live, you’ll keep slipping, because somewhere deep down you want to act on the love you’ve gained and the misery you’ve shared, because by the end of the day it is us which decide to have fear, as if the growth never changes. 

It’s as if you should never say I love you to someone else, because the wind still blows and all will be twisted from one’s fear. We are the ones who strangle ourselves from our own fear and I don’t know why we waltz with any regards to ourselves, anxiety becomes a shallow strain as we start thinking on the lunch. 

And looking at her properly, entirely naked as myself, as if we had regained some lost deja vu, as if this would the postcard of the feeling and we were trying to find the love we had told ourselves we sold for photos, all memories now forgotten and erased as we would try and stay from each other, to make sure we die without thinking of the other. I sometimes wonder how much regret should I hold by pulling her by the string and never understanding how many layers she’s got and how many have I even been under, listening to her and reminiscing on my own past, which she’s now discarded. 

And loving her seems more than futile, because I don’t know who I’m loving.

Yet, she’s the one dragging it all, so take all actions as speech then. We end up dressing up silently and browsing through the small cd section until I stop at a best of Blur, which is a bit typical, but pleasant to find.

“I don’t think anyone doesn’t like Blur, besides my ex and rabid Oasis fans.” 

“How come they didn’t like Blur?”

“I don’t know but they told me that late, when we were dating, so I couldn’t do anything.” I chuckled.

“What about your other exes?” She says it stingily, as if reminding me of some dark secrets I’ve hidden, but mostly just not talk about like I wouldn’t speak of my past in front of a flashing light just not to get it reminded in the tabloids at all times while walking around and then feel it printed as if on the back of my hand. And she knows of all the things I’ve hidden and somehow it becomes a big deal if you’ve slept with a man and I wonder how come the fear is so deeply penetrating for some reason that it ended up keeping her awake, thinking that I would leave her for a man? And when it’s around five a.m. you wonder why even is there a fear of man, why is there a fear of women if someone who I thought was queer would tell me that? Would I even have fear and why do we think we can be the better of our gender but not the best of another gender?

And how come we would have to create different things and cling onto how we had once driven around all over the states, laughing at the run out gas, because now when the ashes are blown away and I can think of all the places we’ve toured I can only think of the love we hold and all the times we’ve pinned each other against the wall before opening the car windows and letting the wind become the scented scarves of an argument so that if we step outside of the plane we would know what we had thought and I wondered how long would it take death to erase our skull memories entirely? 

And why do you have to paint love and how come we’re always miserable and love can never cure us? Sometimes I don’t understand the laughter we’ve had and how come we had managed to read each other’s emotions so carefully to just shatter, break, fall apart and end up doing nothing at all. 

We also need to remember that we are here because we want to be, we all need to understand that we are alive because we simply want to be alive and as daft as it is there is nothing else to decide or to tell why it so happens to be so. Because we’ve always pulled through anything we’ve ever done and we’ve contradicted ourselves to the point that I had thought that I would love her forever. I’ve contradicted myself enough to end up in her arms year after year until I couldn’t feel her at all anymore or even know her and whenever one apologizes it so happens that you believe that the person you’ve loved is back. 

And all the scents and tastes of her chapped lips will go from place to place, reminding everything and every fear which had tingled from my body as either of us have wrapped the other around as a safe house. I remember how angry we had been at each other for missing the ferry in Sweden long ago, how we had started screaming and for a few years I’d recall because I could never forget her face and how much I had wished that no one had seen us, even in an argument, because I didn’t want to share her with anyone. It ended up being as if obsessive, but I had just loved her and no matter how much water I drank I couldn’t dissolve it and when you’re cheated or betrayed the love doesn’t go away, because like death you always think the person will come back.

She still goes through the CDs as Blur keeps playing and I just inspect the house which still screams bizarrely intimacy as if there was never enough. I look around the room with the love things scattered and heart filled backgrounds. She barely looks at me and I just want no regrets from her, because I’ve never told her that I recall that screaming because nothing was ever ugly. All was just a memory, which I’ve taken away. You can never say I love you too much, that’s why we fight.

Alison angrily goes through the DVDs now, not enjoying the content or at least trying not to as she had already chosen three different titles or maybe they’re rubbish worthy and that’s the pile.

I know that on the worst of days I’ll have her and on other worst days I won’t. That’s why it becomes as if you’re living with a friend rather than a lover, because you’ll hide everything until it’s done because you’ll never hear a soft word unless you’re breaking down, as if it’s a seesaw with her and her platforms on the other side and I don’t know why she’s playing alone again. 

I don’t want to even tell her, as she just keeps going through all of the DVDs and it makes more than sense that by the end of the day it’s never the rooms which hold us, but it’s us which should be fixing anything from start to finish and maybe it doesn’t even matter where do we start, but we need to do anything, yet the problem is what do we even want? Have we reached the final stage where we no longer want each other and our love has withered? And was it even ever the love we had always wanted, because moving out for both of us was breathing inside with everything? Was it always like this when you don’t know where you’ve lost your love, not even for the person in question but for everyone else?

So where does love go?

-

I took a day longer because I was knackered and frankly I still am knackered and I've even napped twice today. Basically, I wanted this out really badly and I was awfully sad in general today. Also, I felt awful that this hasn't been updated in nearly a year when I've been writing it rather often so yeah. But alas, here it is finally. 

I think it's more of an in-depth analysis as usual when it comes to The Kills and Alison is androgynous to me, so I use it obviously, I'm not sure how it is now but it's the Alison I stick with or how I thought Alison would age, if you must. 

I don't know what to write, because I wrote it rather often nearly line a day really, because I love them and my emotions was more about story telling these two and how odd it is to still be in love with someone you're no longer with, I can't say I share these emotions today or have in a while, but y'know we've all had it in different ways and there's a reason this is story telling. 

Regarding backstories, I remember I just asked people around and everyone said that my backstories were always good when I just started this blog, that's why they're always here and I'm sorry if this one will be short or less interesting, but I really do just open the laptop, think of things and start writing these days, I guess something like I've wanted, just story telling rather than painfully nagging which is something I do in stories like Thicker Than Blood (guess what's being written then xD) or Mimosa. 

I still find it funny that this was supposed to be the light Kills story and look at it now but it does have comedy elements and will proceed, don't worry xD

I won't recall why I wrote it down, but my ex confessed to me not liking Blur and I had a similar conversation to Callie about it.

I still think writing it, just like any story is a big part of thinking yourself, really. Not lying.

I liked that story where they get stuck in Sweden due to the ferry for five hours and there's a photo and Alison is wearing a Weekday tote bag and they're the best brand ever and very trans friendly from my experience and the whole store is unisex and all fits are lovely. Anyway, so I love that photo and story coz I can relate to it naturally since I live in Sweden so yeah. 

The DVD thing reminded of Alison nagging that she hates rom coms and in another interview Jamie was saying how she had rented them all when he was working on the album.

I don't know where does the love go or why does it stay for that matter.

Thank you and I hope you enjoyed it, tell me if you did

<3

Jamie

We've all been broken. There is something in the polaroids we take of the ones we love. 6

No matter what everyone tells you, the morning will rise and the sun will shine through the forgotten blinds, reminding of a summer with no one to share and confusion of how to be someone else. And I don’t even who to call because my head becomes noise and listening to Joy Division isn’t even depressing in the morning with toast and coffee. It’s odd how once you lose sense of reality and take a carefree job people will start telling there’s something wrong with you, that small jobs don’t make a whole and just because you’re not in an office from morning to evening with a wife at home, all is wrong. That it’s wrong to not do anything in the morning which starts at 3 p.m. and then go shopping for the rest of the day to kill time until the night becomes productive because you have deadlines. People don’t talk about that, because we can only praise what we have, because we’ve forgotten how it’s like to be nice in any of the conditions. 

I met her in a toy store, as I’ve done all the puzzles I have, realizing that perhaps my mania will stay for a few days after crying in a ball, a bit immune to wine and she’s there choosing dolls for a gift and it takes me a while to register as Valentine approaches me. When you don’t have enough malls, you’ll find everyone in the same part. She waves at me and continues choosing through some other ones. And that’s when I feel odd that she doesn’t even try to approach me. I hadn’t even read her text from last night. I ended up opening it, quickly glancing back as she was still stuck between toys. 

Valentine’s text was pretty much that she was well and that had been it. Taking the said 1000 piece puzzle made me feel odd leaving the store without even talking to her, but then she hadn’t approached me either and it ended up with her raising her eyes, holding her dark gaze and back to the said dolls. I pretended to choose between two puzzles as well, holding up some really bad drawn polar bears and then she had been watching my peculiar choices. It felt rather odd to even talk to anyone who hadn’t been Miles or Alex these days, since Brian had seemed to move on at least in my mind, so it was even bewildering as it was someone who wasn’t even a neighbor or a landlord where you had to make sure your mouth was shut for your own sane night. It was odd that she had also known me from word of mouth. And I hadn’t known anything besides presuming that some gossip had come around since they assumed me and Miles had been an item and also that just like Miles we would seem to stick out for being gay and not slept with each other while everyone else seemed incestuous, as if the people who enjoyed another gender’s company were as rare to find as the gay ones. 

And when she waved away, I wondered if she figured that it was better to avoid me at some extent and that ended up giving far too much thought and come to some conclusions I hadn’t wanted in any way. 

Brian would always come clearly to me, this time it was when he had grown his hair the longest and he had tried red lips for a while, leaving everything in the same patches of red and I would only wash everything away after he’d get back home and this time I actually regretted I didn’t have any lipstick traces anywhere, as I recall we were playing cards and he had started nagging that no one really speaks of sex realistically, that even when you read sex scenes they’re supposed to arouse you. Yeah, maybe some shallow ones which included thrusting in and out and that had been it would capture the shallow ones. But no one writes how you can abruptly quit sex to adjust pillows, because anxiety storms down or some random PTSD flash takes over you, the discussion who would be ready to take it frankly and all the implications of heavy pounding. Anything at all ended up always being taboo, Brian would nag, smiling at me as I would just shrug and he would scratch his already built up to the night stubble. That sometimes if you do thrust deep enough you could get a random pain spasm and then you need to cool off. That perhaps you have to shower before bottoming. None of that was discussed and nothing was addressed, BDSM was seen as just spanking and tying up and it was getting worse. People would start saying that the only sexual visibility was already sexual enough so we should stop. But that ends up in a bunch of gay men not even knowing what they’re doing cis or not. Neither is the importance of safe sex in gay relationships. It’s as if everyone finds out but you never speak of it. Everything is forbidden, frowned upon an judged as if people accepted gay men overnight, because everything with sex is wrong. Because if you want to get laid and you can’t you get cranky and you’ll never ask advice from someone who is getting laid. We never ask for help, so why would they regarding sex?

And sleeping is more than an escape, it’s a way to forget and pretend everything you’ve done is gone.

But what if we do fall in love with people we talk? What if we blindly do so because we’re so lonely? What if there is no love after all but just desperation and the need to survive if you fall down during a stroke, because being alone will leave you nowhere, while if you’re paying someone with attention they will stay

So survival of those who can get laid? And then what if sexuality means nothing so does it really matter who you’d prefer your whole life if you find solace in someone else entirely and curiosity just because they had heard a snippet of what it had been slowly to be you in a moment and from your own words rather than rumors? So where does love lay and what would friendship be then if Miles had been my friend and we had known why had we moved out. And what would that have meant in Alex’s case and I had barely talked to him on sexuality, realizing that he’d speak of it first if it properly crossed his mind. And it’s still odd to recall her as if she is a lost fragment of my imagination, a lost letter’s corner I had found again hidden in between a good pile of books.

And I find myself with Miles standing outside my door and it’s odd to know that we still have spares of each other’s apartments as it was far too sad to let go of both when we moved out and I wondered what went wrong with us and why couldn’t I even force myself to look for blokes instead of sulking at the lack of them.

"So you and Alex are dating now, then?" I asked, scratching my head and letting Miles into the apartment which he had the key too because I let him into me too easily. It feels tense specifically from Miles' side and I can only think of things which Brian had told me, laughing, high after some party I refused to go to that Miles was utterly in love with me and there was nothing I could do because I would never love him back that way, it wasn't even Brian speaking but he was saying the truth, my love was confusing because it would take so long to water and fall in love. He was right, I would never love Miles back but seeing him settle wasn't very nice to see either and specifically with Alex who loved him at the same time and was fucking him up. Alex was perfect if he had opened up to his sexuality or the fact that he was in love with a man and that didn't seem to be happening.

I don't even give him the chance to speak and I don't even know where exactly does my anger come from, because I was fine on the phone calls with Miles and everything, I was even okay with Alex who was the culprit of this whole mess, but I kept my mouth barely shut for now. 

"Don't you think you should really tell Arielle?" To which Miles stared at my past silence. He doesn’t say anything, shrugging and then we just both head in and I can feel him stare as I kick off my boots and he just stands in the corridor as if he was never welcome. I just nod at him, confused but then the problem about unresolved tension is that anything you’ll ever say will cause you both to break up as if you were a couple all along. So the troubles are why have we never tried at any point of our lives if we all depart anyway? Why can’t we ever say that even if we love, that we had said that one time, that we meant it in that way and we would’ve gone to bed in a different mood, knowing that everything would progress and we could do at least something instead of departing with nothing in hands. 

But maybe that’s because we don’t recognize the other we were dating and like a couple we depart. 

“Look, if it doesn’t satisfy you... I don’t even know, man.” And I see that he’s near breaking point and I’m sure he would’ve thrown flowers in my face if he ever had any. Two can play with game.

“Miles, I just don’t think it’s fair on Arielle-”

“And who is your friend, mate, Arielle or me? Bloody hell, you don’t even speak to Arielle, you don’t even fucking bother to cover me up at all, all you do is mop around, Miles ain’t my boyfriend or anything. You don’t bother-” And I stand up, he’s taller than me and we lock eyes. 

“And what the fuck should I be saying then, Miles?” And I grit my teeth. “Maybe if you didn’t run away with Alex, you’d have more of me on your fucking bowl since you never speak u-”

Miles stares at me wide eyed and it feels like a tea party where I’ve mentioned the murderer when no one talks about the spilt blood and we never discuss that one of us has ever killed and I pause, not wanting to even go there. 

“I fucking miss you as a frien-”

“As a fucking friend. Exactly, Jamie. As a fucking friend.” And he spits every single word out and we take a few steps back, both of us shaking no longer even wanting to know how lips of each other feel like as I don’t know why I even bother with someone who is allowing his boyfriend to be cheating on his girlfriend where they could all at least tell and try to open it up instead of flirting under the table for months. 

“And what the fuck do you want then?” I snap. I press my hands against the wall, leaning against it, digging my nails into the shitty wallpaper, hoping that I don’t hit him and we just watch each other up close when there’s a few steps between us. Miles doesn’t say anything, instead he sighs, I don’t know if his eyes are filled with anger or tears and he leaves. I head out, slowly as he storms out of the apartment and I don’t care, lighting a cigarette. 

“Au revoir, darling.” I yell.

And I think long. 

I can’t think of anything.

“Love you, Miles.” And let that sting, somehow, because words is all I have since no actions will make it sting under the bedsheets in the night after he’s done fucking Alex. 

-

It's a bit weird not to talk about the elephant in the room, but I'll go kind of as the story went. I had a struggle whether I wanted things to be as they would happen to me IRL or based off or how they would match up and here's the result really. 

I think I've spoken about it more openly, that when you're depressed, because you're so depressed listening to stuff like Joy Division doesn't put you down, because the mood is frankly the same. 

Also I guess I've learnt that no matter how shit things are, the sun shines through somehow.

I freelance and I kind of become open on what it is here, so I have nothing to add really.

I used to do puzzles a lot before I was medicated, I miss that, I should do some actually. It's really nice and all, but now it's for fun rather than maintaining mania. I wrote the Valentine chunk ages ago, actually. 

I missed writing this story because it's so... story telling if you must rather than spilling my emotions at times, I guess besides the elephant in the room which was based off a few conversations I've had kind of going on the platonic vs dating sort of thing and that inspired this and other stories such as Mimosa really. I'm sorry if the back story is short but it's very me telling stories and I was speaking of it to Callie as I wrote it and maybe coz I'm medicated but I was really happy and proud of myself for the love lines here which are the plot really. 

I'm an anxious person and I think I'm a nightmare during sex sometimes, because I can get anxious and when I write sex scenes I still make them flow like frankly any ideal sex session but that doesn't mean that sex is always like that. Sex is like that, but sometimes you drop and hyperventilate from some PTSD flash, sometimes you need to fix those pillows or sometimes you won't feel like that position at all and you're near. Neither does anyone talk of the misfortunes of bottoming at times or preparation for it. 

I actually started writing the chunk from Jamie and Miles talking in the bus because I was bored and I was going to write this today, so I gave myself a kick start really xD and this was very carefully planned so yeah, ages ages ago and before I even made IRL connections

I think the piece just speaks for itself and I like it the way it is, I love it

I hope you enjoyed it and thank you

Please tell me if you did, we'll mourn together xD and don't worry the next chapter will be soon :D 

<3

Jamie

The Blunderbuss Angel Said The Union Is Forever 11

Anxiety shows you that things will never be okay, it becomes the compass telling you that even if the things will be okay, you won’t because you’re digging out your soul with bloody fingernails and you become your own worst enemy because you hate yourself so much and you’ll never be loved, never fulfilled, just like your parents had told you so.

And I don’t know why shaving has ever been so sexual and why do I always look at him, holding the razor no matter electric or not, if not electric washing off the foam and wondering how it would have been before with an actual knife and how he would be on my mercy

and seeing that artwork made me remember how it had felt to shave him, watching him close his eyes and then back at me, dark and sunken, funny and swollen, entirely smitten 

entirely built up to the feeling but never touching

we had been like that for years

and we will remain as such because when you’re platonic you believe you have it all, but in reality one of you sometimes doesn’t love back. I’ll never love and he’ll never love.

How do you say goodbye when it’s been months?

And life is the least of pretty. 

No one really knows what goes on stage, they see what they want to see, that’s why all interaction is kept hidden, as if observing fish in a fish tank, you’ll never hear what they hold dear.

He shows up on the telly screen and he’s breathtaking just as he as on the dancing classes. I can’t recall anything besides his face and the fact that I dance with him tomorrow as he shifts from leg to leg in the talk show in all red, never saying a word among the crowd which is supposed to be curious and asking about sexuality. 

I kept watching him on television recalling how it had felt, being younger and peeping on the right side of the fence where men would please each other, that one had jerked off to two men on television and that’s what I do, imagining him on me, pleasing each other in a reckless way, teasing and driving each other mad that I come on my hand, but I watch the rest of it as he doesn’t speak and neither will I tomorrow.

When you can’t piece the past together you become nostalgic even for the faces you wouldn’t see under a death knife to reminisce your life before it flashes. I don’t even know why do we think so much of the past and of all the lost lovers and it’s all because they once knew us so we think that they still carry the same knowledge we had once lent them.  Or is it because we want the self we had known while we were with them? What if we just want ourselves back before everything had collapsed and we had decided that time means nothing and we had never grown much wiser and all we were given is just misery and in that one step of suicide contemplation it turns out waiting to see what awaits was never worth it?

And is that why we kill ourselves in any way, no matter how deep the forest, no matter how many kilometers you’ve ridden yourself to death to because you thought it would be okay with the shards of arguments which only shone break ups?

And it would go day after day, as I wouldn’t be able to call up on him, now feeling more than unease from all the flashes and picking up headlines which would have me somewhere in the middle of the press, giving some deja-vu as people would muse on what would’ve been wrong. And I wish I had always been the same, no matter how much has the flesh ever grown. 

When he does call, it feels a bit odd and I can only imagine him with hair much shorter than he’s had before I met him, no longer having some halo of androgyny stuck in his curls and it feels as if I am talking to death and I know how I would have reacted in a pocket of nostalgia, but all I want to do is to cry, while listening to his voice like a spicy lullaby and I wonder why is this even fed to children when I’m deep rooted in my forties. We both feel that way and he keeps telling me to try and pay attention but all I can think is that I’ve skipped my medication, allowing myself to free float

and feel blood on the back of my lips as I’d get told that faggots can’t be blokes. And I would rarely hit back, which possibly explains why now I would hurl people across rooms, screaming, because I knew how deep would blood draw paths on my skin, making small flows and drying up as if it were all sand. 

Dancing had become more intense and when people get used to what they see, it’s harder to get annoyed and it felt odd, but then neither of us would think that either would end up kissing each other anywhere and we would reverse the roles session after session, holding each other either on the waist or shoulders. I wondered if we would manage to compete somehow, but then we would surely be given other partners for the pleasing look and that was something neither of us wanted. 

It became harder to listen to Jamie eventually with his voice and I would catch myself just listening to it as if it were a scarf and he were my night companion and even when it got significantly cold what happened was that we would still get ice cream, so that during winter it didn’t melt in our hands, as we would sit outside where the rebels would in the summer, allowing ourselves to collect snowflakes and wonder how much more would the town go gray. We wouldn’t speak, because if we would we say too many things. 

-

This chapter is split into three I guess tenses or what not: the alternate dancing thing which could serve as an odd past, the present and in general fluidity of progression and kind of up in the air.

I guess what I love the ambiguity of this story which shifts plot lines and points of view that even I don't know who is where to be honest, so that's why I love it. I was feeling rather tired and looking back at my past with the dancing, not the creep which was my partner but rather the whole setting and that before I got a shit partner I enjoyed it and I wasn't obviously romantically interested in the friend which ended up getting a classmate of hers which was lovely to be her partner and I was left with said creep. 

I speak briefly of abuse but I don't like being too cliche and always making an abusive sibling which I had. 

The shaving sexual was because I often make shaving sexual, maybe because Callie always shaves my face, I'm awful at it. But also my first sexual Jack/Jamie involved shaving as well, so I made a mock stating that it's cliche. 

I was on telly once and I took that experience of Jamie watching Jack, I had worn a gorgeous red and black plaid suit and it was the first time I showed up to my middle school class wearing red lips and I remember how mocked I was for it, because where I grew up it wasn't seen that women would wear bright lipstick, it was lipgloss, mascara, blush and so on, so red lips was seen as ridiculously bright, it's interesting and maybe that influenced my obsession with red lips, I honestly don't know but all the make up I did growing up was never seen as feminine so yeah. So I took that for Jack being there.

Another scene is Jamie jerking off to Jack, it was confusing growing up and I dunno whether my sexuality just changed over the years or it was because I could relate body-wise at the time, but I recall reading a lesbian fiction online which was rather hot and it was just some erotica about a girl wanking to I think two twins touching each other on telly and I took that for this. And I took that for this really, since we're talking about the past here.

I get lonely when I'm depressed and nearly nothing can patch that up and I started thinking of old friends and then I binged until now really, I'm better now xD but we do need to speak more of depression

I also started recalling places where we've lived and biked through thick forests for that matter and made it angsty really story-wise purposes xD

The present is set from all the current headlines which go "Oh, where's Kate, why is Jamie Hince alone" sort of thing. 

I broke down through writing half of this with really heavy dysphoria, scared that I'm not like my characters since I'm trans and then I calmed down a lot thanks to Callie which always helps me like this and well, I'm still a man and hopefully such intense dysphoria is temporary but I do dread this body with all my soul. So Jamie getting beat up and the faggots can't be blokes line is more of me screaming about things I've heard that I can't be a man due to my body really.

I also mused on reading Jamie's past so yeah and bullying specifically.

and the last bit is from alternate Jack and yeah. I quite like that bit, I was listening to Eye by Smashing Pumpkins, so that explains the love really. I love that plot line.

I hope you enjoyed it and if you did please please tell me that you liked this chapter

Thank you for all your support loves

<3

Jamie

Broken Black Varnish Requiem 12

The problem with depression is that once you move in with someone, television and everything will tell you that relationship fades when in reality it’s your mind which is fading, because you were just as miserable and lonely back in the workplace. 

Depression is like an endless ball of yarn, you know it should be over, but no matter how much you pull, the ball is still there and all of a sudden you don’t want to pull anymore. Jamie would still come in and out of our lives and I ended up being one of those people which when quit drop contact and the fact that both me and Alex moved wasn’t helpful either. I wouldn’t drive a hour to see someone I barely cared about when I was there either. So then the question was faced, let’s say my life was interesting because I seemed interesting to people I’d talk to afar, but what about the rest? Where did I lay there? Why couldn’t I even force myself into some pottery class and the thought of other people obsessing with something I just did to get friends was far from tempting. Neither did I ever get on well with women anyway as the years went on. 

All of a sudden I had a day back then when I recalled how much I had wanted to become a mermaid when I was growing up, specifically mesmerized by the scales in the picture books and how they shimmered better than any nail varnish. And I had told Alex that kind of growing up I wanted a girl, so that then I could open the books, we had just moved in and weren’t married yet. It’s one of those memories where you feel awful being ignorant, to which Alex replied that we can never determine the gender and we might find out later who shall the baby be, years on because gender is so complex. I didn’t know what to say at that point and I felt even worse when he bought me a bunch of books, saying to enjoy them regardless and maybe our child would want to be a mermaid as well.

I ended up dreaming of mermaids for a good while again, drawing them and I apologized to Alex, wondering how bad my drawing skills where. And I hadn’t know where to stick that obsession as I just felt frustrated not knowing what story or drawing to do when I had done none, just allowed my memories to whisk me away, but instead Alex would speak to me about it and we would joke.

And here I was, eating Jack’s barbecue and thinking of another man because I couldn’t handle myself in telling Alex anything. I couldn’t say anything or let alone think it, ignoring the phone in my pocket, not guilty enough to leave it at home. And I wondered how come do we fall in love with people we don’t even know and we expect them to act in a certain way. Yet the dreams we have is making out with friends, hell, I’ve even had Jamie to which he teased me for a week and I couldn’t understand why did I even dream of making out with a person I didn’t want at all. And how come Jack had crossed my mind, but I had wanted him as Jamie squirted at him with some kid’s water gun. 

Yeah, I could share. Only would Alex share his mermaid too, when I would never ask and solely cheat, as if cheating was easier?

-

Today I've been having some odd mermaid obsession and I've been inserting them everywhere because I was thinking wtf do I do since I recently had a selkie story, so I didn't want to repeat and used it this way:)

Also, I'm dying and tired so sorry xD 

I ended up talking a lot about my feelings and kind of projecting them onto Alison, specifically regarding depression how everything just becomes dull and kind of trying to understand that you're miserable roughly everywhere but still managing to find great ways to have fun. (Not in Alison's case right now though.)

I had this crisis where I was like, shite, I have no friends nearby so I gave that to Alison, I'm awfully open here about recent stuff like making out with friends in dreams which I've had since ever and that sucks xD I also wanted to show how we fuck up and may be ignorant and that's shunned, but we all do mistakes and learn. I feel awful for Alex here and I love him.

I didn't want to do another artist, so I kept Alison in the frustration of not being able to express yourself. 

I hope you enjoyed it and thank you

Please tell me if you did

<3

Jamie

To Miles 53

The days seem like a metronome going back and forth, knowing the sound which is the same until night strikes and that’s when everything unfolds in a different light whether it’s smoking inside or playing cards or staring in the eye as we both undress and the more the days go on the more painful the daylight stretches as if skin reminding the pain it is not to have his skin under my fingertips as I trace it, Jamie laying on his back, his breath getting heavier slowly as I trace through everything before taking him in my mouth. All nights would be the same if I hadn’t known what love was and how sweet it was, nulling the night and bringing desire to the table in all it’s side and ways. 

When the sea gets calm, you worry about the storm and that’s how odd it seemed with him lying besides me and it seemed as if Miles’ words had entered the chess game of my mind.

Me and Jamie had no strings attached as we had discussed over a cigarette, joking that maybe at some point we should invite someone in just to fulfill the fantasy of seeing the other get fucked but on discussions of who would it be, the topic died off as we had no idea who we both could even trust besides each other and it seemed like some monogamous ending as Jamie seemed with no one in mind and I could only think of Matt and Miles. 

I couldn’t sleep without Jamie clutching me and I wondered why would I even want to hear Miles’ words again when we had barely spoken, but when there is no one to stop you, you do indeed do stupid things. I poked my ex-lover’s shoulder a few times until he flinched and I could swear I saw a soft surprised look before he hissed what the fuck had I wanted when I stretched out gambled from Jules candy and a pack of cigarettes. You never decline when you’re close to shore and hungry for something which doesn’t crawl out dead from a canteen. 

“The hell do you want, Turner?” Miles asked, his hair longer and he seemed older even if months had only divided kisses and touch. I just shrugged, lighting his cigarette as he leaned in, never enough to tease with dark brown night eyes, never reaching the sunlight.

“Seriously. I don’t think we’re friends, Alex.” He had stated, but curiosity still seemed engraved in him, as if waiting for me to call out on Jamie, so instead I just shrugged, offering to go anywhere to which he snarled the orlop and I shrugged, but never of us moved that direction. You never confess you miss someone, you just dance until you realize you’re dancing. 

Once we try to head out, I start hearing rain, a bit pleased that we wouldn’t be able to head out onto the deck, giving myself a small realization that perhaps this was all a bad idea and I could even turn it into a bad dream and I wondered why the fuck was I even dwelling on Jamie being angry at me for talking to Miles and the thing is he wouldn’t and I couldn’t understand why had the thought of something so soothing bother me or was it simply because I had no Matt anymore, because I would always juggle between a lover and Matt and now I didn’t even know where I lay with the pilot as all we would do is sometimes exchange letters, praying for the best. 

The rain stopped and we walked out, the intense smell of rain mixing with the idle of the sea we had so used to been. I wondered if I would ever get bored of the salt or boats in general and I wondered why had I even hesitated in the beginning to even enter, but I still kept going, only sad that Matt preferred air to sea, when sea offered a degree of comfort and when drunk I told him that I’d rather drown and probably if I ever have to commit suicide for any reason, that would be how I would do, just like people want to die in arms of a beloved I want to die in a blanket of places I’ve worked and seen and swam in as a sailor. And I would’ve loved to drown, wondering how would the waves break last with every final touch and breath and how they would take me, lulling me and tearing my lungs apart to make sure that in death I would breathe as the fish would. 

And we light our cigarettes inside anyway and I prefer it as such and I know that Jamie is long asleep and it’s about one hour until the first sailors wake up and around two to three for everyone else to wake up, so both me and Miles will get more than enough sleep and that is exactly one hour until Jamie wakes up. He never wakes up earlier, knowing when to start the day and how soon he can be dismissed from his abilities as well as actually start reading which is his second favourite part of the day, confessing that the nights spent with me are always his first as he would lay underneath me. 

I smoke silently, recalling how it even is to have him pinned underneath me and choke him as he gets even more turned on as I stroke him, take him in my mouth once I lower myself-

I just cross my legs just in case and I hope that Miles would understand that it’s clearly for a different man who I believe he still lusts after as well. 

“You and Jamie were exclusive, right?” Miles narrows his eyes at me, blowing smoke away as I ask a clearly stupid question.

“Well, yeah, besides my sister, we were exclusive, why the fuck aren’t you asking your lover, Turner?” He hisses back at me and I just focus on his eyes, wondering how long would it take for them to soften, but instead he breaks the eye contact, hugging himself with the other arm. 

“I just wanted to start a discussion, that’s all.” And I pause, barely looking at Kane. “And yeah, it was a stupid question.”

“Even if you want to be friends. I have no interest to gossip about Jamie, so fuck off. If he prefers you, that’s swell, but at least have some decency to talk about him to him. I wouldn’t be doing that-”

“Yeah and you’re not with him.” I say, leaning against the door, watching rain slowly come back from the round window onto the outsides. “I just asked because I’m sleepy and I don’t think since we’re on the same ship we should be like you and Jamie. You’ve got a harsher history and both of you loved each other. You’ve got a rough past, of course you’d break up like that. But we didn’t have that, Miles. I don-”

“I loved you even if it was for a second, Turner. Thanks for doubting me.” And he tightens the grip on himself, inhaling deeper, holding the smoke before surrounding himself in its ash. I look at him a bit confused.

“You just toyed with me for Jamie.” I bite my lip, a bit frustrated and wondering what the hell had I even expected from a conversation with Miles. 

“At least be a man and admit a fucked up love triangle. We were all involved with each other and to a big extent, some smaller, some bigger. Neither can I speak on what’s happening to you and Jamie besides the fact that he’s been reading less and pounding your ass more.” And he says the last part in a jealous low note, but resumes his speech. “I’ll always know how he feels, even when I’m fucking dead-”

And he points at my chest.

“I’ll know how he fucking feels.”

And he shakes once.

“And he fucking loves you.” And then Miles just continues smoking, as if requesting silence for a fallen man and we just continue in silence, until the very end where Miles just quickly looks at me. 

Shrugs.

“Hell, let’s be friends. Even gossip about Jamie if you wish, he is your boyfriend. And I can love you as a friend.” He says quietly and looks at me, still bewildered, confused and a truly lost in love sailor. And once we go back to our bunks, a sadness washes over me with worry and lack of understanding and some loneliness served with nothing at all. I wondered about loneliness as I fell asleep for the brief leftovers of sleep and as usual I dreaded that I had to walk out of Jamie’s room, wondering how much more I could I stretch time and if I would spend it sleeping with him. Probably not, we’d end up fucking. It was always dreadful that either of us would wake up first, shake the other or sometimes we’d both wake and lie there in the dark, staring at each other, a breath away, not daring to confess we’re both already awake.

“Alex, you need to go.”

“No.”

“Alex, you should really get going, love.”

“No.”

“Petty Officer Turner, get the fuck out of my bed.” He’d snap in a mockingly way, where I’d look back at him, a bit confused, Jamie nodding that an order was an order and I’d start dressing up, putting everything on while Jamie would sit on the bed, naked and I wouldn’t be able to dress up without looking at him, knowing how small goodbyes were just as harsh and it varied from day to day if we’d make out or do a brief kiss before leaving alone, clothes neatly put on as if the day had already started. And there would be no turning back until the end of it and the rest would spiral.

I wonder how some men have luck. How some manage to avoid death while others have it around their neck like a rope. I wondered if mine was just slow torture and I wondered how come waking up would ache, with mute noise as I dressed, later than Jamie would, brushing my teeth later with a shower, sticking to Carlos and Julian who had far more facial hair, throwing soap at each other with an irritated Miles telling them to act like men instead of boys.

I wondered when did we even mature because as the years went I just seemed to have more utter confusion and depression on how time went and now I had the baggage of wonder on why had I even been loved now. And that seemed to go in circles sometimes, wondering how come I even ended up being entangled in something people would never experience in their life time and when the thoughts were too dark I wondered how did I even end up being so attracted to him that him pushing me harder, not even allowing me to come would drive me with stronger desire, how come a nightmare had turned out entirely fine and into love and how come everything seemed to spin harder and gain meaning

how come we had found love

I always wondered if he was even a good man, as I washed my face and what had even been my basis to avoid him and discard him as a bad man? Was it love shielding me or was it my fear telling me that I would never be loved, because you’d always hear how homosexuals will never love, how they are doomed, how you should avoid men, men, men

and want a housewife in your house waiting for you from the ship

and that would drive me insane, knowing that Matt would do nothing

the kiss had been sultry, sweet but it was nothing to ease the pain enterily it was solely a colourful placebo until I had met Jamie.

I couldn’t see him casually through out the day, he would only take lunch with us, nose in his book, now reading something new I couldn’t recall, feeling the spoon slip through my fingers for it to only echo as a whisper through the speeches of excited men and through the table where Julian’s dark eyes were fixed on me and he pulled Carlos’ collar, whispering something in his ear and I just bit my bottom lip from collapsing. 

Sometimes the most torturous part of the day had been exactly when the work was done somehow through the whole misery and I wondered what the hell had even been wrong with me and if I should’ve talked to the doctor, but all I could hear was prayers and my parents talking go through me, clawing me from the inside, as I could barely focus to read, not even recalling the book, so I just left for the bathroom to get water, when I saw Julian and Carlos. 

I don’t even recall what they had said to me but at that point I had realized that wives on the shore never mattered and if this ship is full of sinners then maybe it should go down and we would never see the blue sky anyway. We would never see the blue sky-

And I had felt Julian’s hand on my cheek, telling me that I would heal as he had kissed me again, Carlos watching us, as our tongues would intertwine and from the sole shock, I could feel him again. I could feel briefly at least the body of both of them and I wondered if anyone could even see how numbed out I felt, because they ahd been worried or like the rest they had thought that sinners should be greeted with more temptations to not even feel the flames then? Was that the whole plan all along? Was that it?

And feeling their bodies, as they pushed into a cubicle, I wondered how come it had been empty and if they had locked the door, praying that others would use other toilets and as I went down on my knees for Julian, as he made out with Carlos, taking his uniform off I wondered how many nails will we even trace down each other’s skins this evening? And why had we all been doing this, as I felt my cock jump from the sights of Julian as I started licking greedily, pulling my own fly down to touch myself. Juju grabbed Carlos’ cock and I just kept glancing, feeling myself near so I had to drop, the sailor thrusting deep into my mouth that I gagged and that’s when he came down my throat. 

I chocked, coughing as I got patted on the back by a grinning Carlos. Maybe sex wasn’t as long with other people, I wondered, knowing how long love would last between me and Jamie, as Carlos was finished off by Julian.

I still felt everything in my mouth, as Carlos touched me, kissing me, but my mind had been keen on Julian.

Maybe most men weren’t so lucky after all

and we believed in their luck because we could never care. 

And that’s why I cared about Julian.

-

I actually had this done yesterday but I was too knackered to write a backstory (and I am now xD) so I pushed it to today and I hope you'll enjoy it. Sorry that the backstories have been shorter, but I am super busy with work and everything so I kind of filter less and just even more naked truths really and very straight to the point, that's why. I binged this through different days and I guess what stood out was opening the window and writing under some medium rain. I always do.

The last binge was done after watching the latest episode of My Mad Fat Diary which was just heart shattering as they always are. And I kind of need to set the tone for many things so I've been pushing Alex into the right mind set and Julian is finally getting sent off, like Callie said Juju's a hero because he was supposed to sent off instead of Cookie back in chapter 2 or so, so he's been awfully lucky and he has more or less one or so chapters to go (sorry for the spoiler) so it's been a very fun and loved character to write and finally I got Alex into the right mindset and got him to fuck Julian.

I think a lot about sex, flashes or just thinking of it, so it's more of missing and trailing the mind.

I love Alex and Miles' dynamic in this story even if it's been rather slow and I love that now I get to show a more human side of Miles, kind of seeing the villain if you must show some feelings and it's a bit cliche, but I still love it. Miles was originally as the story progressed went on to be a mirror of a failed relationship with my ex but it isn't so these days. Miles ended up deeper and far more broken. But Alex's attachment does echo with the time and that's where I draw inspiration for post-break up feelings. 

When I was growing up I liked the thought of drowning in death, maybe coz I read about someone else saying it, but it still sticks to my head and it fit Alex's thoughts.

I guess I'll remind but Alex's insecurity comes from my own because of my abuse I couldn't believe that someone would love me and the parent speeches are things I've heard.

I love the "I'll know how he feels" which was inspired by how Callie notices every minor detail and every body language on how I am feeling.

The small dialogue was because Callie loves imitating both Alex and Jamie in different comic situations and this was one of them, shamelessly taken with permission xD

I get a kick out of navy, so I allowed them that in bed too.

I loved the whole luck analogy and depression slowly twisting in. You'll read the rest next time

I hope you enjoyed it and if you did please don't be shy to tell me so :3

<3

Jamie