So you can sink.

“Genet says in Our Lady
of the Flowers: ‘If I were
to have a play put on in
which women had roles,
I would demand that
these roles be performed
 by adolescent boys.’
- Jean Paul Sartre

We don’t cherish the things we have, because we are taught that our life is ordinary but no different than the rest, but is thought? I muse as I walk out, smoking a cigarette, watching the play again after all the years, feeling the cold air remind of winter like an old cheating lover of their existence on the streets. Collar pulled up, sometimes you don’t just wonder what is wrong but you wonder how do all slip under every single note of humanity as confusion seems to settle the direct obvious, yet as we build society as daft, it is granted to us, some bizarre anonymity and questions of girlfriends are simply shoved aside in each talk, as each glass is raised and mussed out loud. 

Men are considered to be straight.

Men are considered to be women, because we have given far too much allowance in ourselves to give clear distinctions and I am mistaken as an actor from a play, as I stop to fix the lipstick as long as the notion of the fact that I might be somewhat sexually ambigious, all is fine and make up just like theatre is seen as a mere performance. We are given the false explanations, when those who are women have it taken away from them entirely, giving us the space we had never needed. 

Make up became an exploration of the self, as subtleness was taken away in it’s entity, allowing to browse aisles of bright blue make up fluttered with the gazes of confused women with their bare minerals pallettes as much is made to thought, as you look out to a pitch black forest at night, wondering what would there be for the dawn to break entirely and remind the self of the lack of one’s existence.

“They don’t state that the man who put the play was gay.” And another man approaches me and strikes me with his tired eyes and own mascara, I believe just retouched and I blow smoke, turning away so that it doesn’t reach his face. I wait for him to continue with his accent which just confirms where he’s from and how come he had decided to approach. “So it becomes social help, because it’s not even the government which holds the ideology, but it becomes among the people, because they the mass, become the revolted lot, which doesn’t allow to do anything, to step forward, because by the end of the day even the government consists of people and their decisions. They are the ones who pretend gay men don’t exist.”

“And it is my make-up which speak for my sexuality, then?” I ask him, looking at the soft pink lipstick traces on the cigarette end, as I offer no cigarettes as the man himself seems to be a smoker. We both become so desperate at times that we allow ourselves to frankly give everything for a shot, because intuition becomes fairly crucial at many times, for in a row of people which would strangle us, there is nothing left. I blow out the smoke again and now it reaches him with the wind. “And. May I ask what are you doing here then of all places?”

I feel like my English is far less tattered and I am never taken for a local anymore. 

“Business, just like all of us, we hold onto jobs, we watch the fall, we muse on nationality and consider our place.” He shrugs. The man clicks his tongue. “Expression is rather bold so I assume you have dismantled many things in your head and if a man looks deep into himself, he’ll find himself reading Mishima regardless of the fucked up views.”

He ponders on his next words.

“I got fucked over by his line that woman stands in the way of creation and when you think of one’s gender, you start musing is it actually so? Is it from one radical end to another or does pure hate make us so bitter, then?” Now he takes out a cigarette box, a bit crumbled from the small coat pocket, probably under him in the play with the theatre staff suggesting to bring the coats along. “Because the more you look and speculate on your own gender, your own expression, the more you see that you identify with the daftest of men and alienate from the smartest of women, so what if the woman standing on the path to creation is just one’s acceptance of homosexuality? Because we are told that women take parts of our lives and just like any child, we start wishing the thing we dislike were gone. It’s childish, but you hate what you are tortured with.”

“Very bold and problematic to say.” I smirk, now watching him smoke, as if take turns. “Where does the fuel come from?”

“One’s denial of self. You’ll never hate yourself, you’ll hate the others who had tried to build you. You will never hate yourself for a bad relationship, you will hate the person who dated even if it was your mistake.” He smiles at me and I just close my coat buttons to the very top. “May I invite you to dinner?”

I give out a chuckle and nod.

-

I had the thought of doing some BDSM story for quite a while to be honest, because I've been ticked off that people think that 50 shades of grey is wrong because it's BDSM, there are actually such people and BDSM hasn't seen the best of lights these day because of that abusive crap recently. And in general I don't write Milex far too often and I'll be honest, I don't read it too much and being honest, I've seen some really bad sex scenes and BDSM which just didn't seem attractive to me at all and well, I understand we all have our limits, but I guess being a non-vanilla person I decided to frankly well, I feel like maybe my own sex scenes are more vanilla than I am in real life. But as Callie put it, we come under the casual BDSM people xD sorry if that's too TMI, but we are kind of in the community, pretty mcuh anyone who enjoys it is. I've got some slips here and there, but never really had a full fleshed out story for it and I kind of wanted to counter and give a bit more sex scenes for the Milex fandom, because I'm really tired of everyone putting gay men into heterosexual stereotypes so this story was frankly aimed to be the gayest thing I've written with the small extract in the beginning as I'll get to it in a bit. So I wanted frankly sit down and pretty much take and make it as gay as possible.

What inspired me and frankly I was thinking through life, was seeing The Maids with an all male cast years ago set by Viktiuk which frankly mesmerized me and kind of challenges that men are still men and the point was to put an all male cast, pretty much play that feminity is constructed and that they're still men which is really interesting and is something you kind of dig around a lot when you go into gay literature, because frankly I get annoyed at how gay men are portrayed, that's why I write about gay men so much, asides from being one, it's kind of what I always focused on and wondered until I came out to myself as well. Basically the play just shook me to the core and their make-up was outstanding and that's where make-up puts in place.

As I was discovering make up, frankly since I wasn't aware of my gender for a long while, I remember how I'd always get told to make make-up more subtle and feminine and I always liked it bright and kind of it was used a bit offensive against me that my make-up is theatrical and I guess I reclaimed that for myself, because I discovered it as I moved out and I would do it in ways I wasn't told and I still do it very bright and make a point of making it rather threatrical, in general when it comes to my appearence that's what I prefer and that's what build my masculinity if you must. And I kept musing that I don't give a lot of make-up to my characters either, so this story frankly frames all the parts of myself being a man I had missed. And well, I get annoyed at things I see or read, so kind of taking things from my daily life like discussing sex in depth or make-up is what I wanted for this story. Also, I'll have to think of the setting or maybe I'll just keep it in my head, not specifying because I need them to have some openness which obviously they may not have in Eastern Europe, so I'll see. 

I'll be honest, I'm having trouble finishing Our Lady of the Flowers as I'm having trouble going through Darling's and Divine's straight relationship which I really can't give a fuck about. So, that's for me to sit and force myself, but I've been having trouble to concentrate and read because I've had many mood swings, yet I've been reading fanfiction and whatnot, but I sat and read some more Exquisite Coprse which has it's fair share of cissexism but kind of addresses things as obsession with breeding, which is something I grew up with, so rings a bell for me. 

I was very anxious of starting it and I was looking for the right quote for quite a while (note: I don't have a title for the story so far xD). 

There's more in Sartre's introduction which gave me a brief existential crisis, like Mishima once had with "women stand in the way of creativity/creation" which is discussed in the story. I find my own gender and sexuality interesting, because with each day I feel much more away from women both in gender and sexuality and I find more reasoning and I feel closer to male, as if I wasn't male enough already, but gender is an interesting thing xD so the whole feminity being construct made me question it, because we mostly think of masculinity being construct and for me, it's mostly a concept which is kept up by women (I kind of come from the side where we had gender equality then we had a boom where mother's obsessed with their sons and I was thinking of it deeper, that women are more gender police when it come sto language and we've got research and again, speaking personally, I guess, I'm rather strict and I've experienced transphobia only by women and massive hate speeches specifically just from women). So it kind of gave me a lot of thought and since Callie is androgynous it gives us a lot to think, since we've both identified with female at some point, like because we both dropped it and I dunno, it never matched me by the end of the day besides when I was with specific partners. 

But I'm not here to thrash, because I've gotten death threats by women for being a trans man, but that's not about that, so I might be bitter due to that and PTSD, so my apologies, honestly. 

So it kind of made me question and I hate being percieved as female when in make-up aisles all I see is females going over nude shades and me asking Callie if she sees any non-black mascara. So even when it comes to stereotypes, I start even thinking even which of my actions would even be percieved. Anyway, it becomes interesting. Sorry, I get carried away.

I kind of set it in Eastern Europe, so the glass raised are toasts and to all I've heard of me being a wife and getting a het husband and whatnot, so that was a lil' wave to that. 

I hate that trans women are erased, I hate that trans identities are erased, but we also have the problem that a boy in a dress would be percieved as a woman and if they are just a boy in a dress, would still be not percieved as such, so that was addressed and that's why make-up is explicitly described. 

Viktiuk isn't listed as gay on his wiki page, that annoyed and revolted me because he's been out since ever from what I heard. 

I kind of wanted to address since we've got a lot of controversy, that our problem is not only the fucked up laws, but the people, the fucking people.

I like giving all my stories a sense of dystopia and with nazism on the rise, I had to point out, of course, how nazi humankind has become. 

Also I guess I wanted to point out how we do so many things for our jobs these days and how bad the market is unfortunately and yeah. Kind of hitting home with a few sentences really.

Mishima is such a fucked up read, but nevertheless I'll never shut up about his talent. And it kind of opened my eyes on gay men, since society made the wrong stereotypes fuck knows why. 

I've been using bitter and hate because that's how I feel, so I'm sorry if that phrase is in many many stories xD

I kind of wanted to be split open for this story and I was. So yeah. Obviously explicit sex scenes to follow and I hope you like it.

Now, title... Lemme think. Ok, I watched a small fragment of the play again, just to frankly steal the pharse "so you can sink" which is now, the title. Also I kind of wanted to keep the threatrical feel and for some reason I was listening to Jonny Greenwood's Doghouse as I was writing it and yeah. 

Please tell me if you enjoyed it and thank you

<3

Jamie

500 5

Drinking becomes sober. Sober with apple attraction. 

I know who’s awake and in the nearest destination we’re all awake and none of us have the powder or blood of the world’s turmoil, we’re the sleeping protesters which have decided that our arms do nothing, so it becomes foolish yet understanding that to spare our own lives, it’s better to watch from a side, because our arms wouldn’t change anything yet fear of guns still bullies into a trance, because by going to the front we wouldn’t save any lives, just take others and whose would it be someone else’s or ours and for once we value our own. 

I like watching the windows go one by one at night and I wonder if the war swallows if so will the forest or would our living souls be the first to go?

It surprises me that it doesn’t snow in the next few weeks and my own depression can wipe out idle memories. As I fiddle around the house, I start finding Christmas gifts scattered and a lot of them have either cracks or come as good as new, but it seems as if the whole house had travelled through war, whoever had been here holds the same past as everyone else or the thoughts of powder. Barely any hadn’t been touched or observed to feel the turmoil. I sit in the kitchen, fiddling with the box as Jack had decided to do fishing. I had refused, without realizing that he had left, going through all the house, thankful for minimal heating but the weather was barely catching up on it’s calendar date anyway. I wondered if he would fish with his bare hands. 

The toys seemed to depress me with deep forgotten nostalgia of a time when war wasn’t thought of and all laws were minor as it seems now. I lift up one to just put it back, as I hear some small sound as I peak out of the kitchen to see a tall man with dark hair to his shoulders.

He smiles at me.

I wonder if he wants the house back. 

“No, I’m just visiting.” He says and I realize he makes as much sense as when I was drunk, he makes his way to my gifts, the room feeling lighter as he takes one asking what was wrong with these and I just mutter nothing. I observe him, as age seems to slip conclusion from him and he is dressed rather grim fingers in dirt and I wonder what sort of metaphor would he ever cary and how would he even represent all of us, as if we were all a play and this house was a sole model of the world. He doesn’t feel intimidated by my look. He puts all the toys down and before I can even say anything, he turns around. I follow the dark haired man up to the stairs and he just waves, deep brown eyes fixated on mine for a moment before he heads downstairs. 

I can’t call him useless, but not much is said and I wonder what had the gifts even had. I sit down, inspecting the fixed cracks and noses as Jack does come back with a fucking basket full of fish I make a mental note to discard as I get reminded to make way to another city, to someone who wants to reconnect with a relative which seems to be causing ruckus and even appearing on the CCTV inside the house. Jack seems surprised and displeased about my silence as I dress up, as if our whole relationship had been a string and as I slept when I realized that I had started to get very attracted to a selkie which had no interest in me, it seemed like a reason for me to bury it, as I would try to speak less, setting up the laptop I had brought with me, just to notify that I was up and running again, wondering how many had already died within hiding to be heard. 

"So if we have to cut down trees to know their age, would it be the same with people?" Jack muses, thinking, shuffling, unused to the idea of me leaving apparently. "Is that what you do, look at the dissected tree."

I don’t think.

"You can come and see if you like, just don’t talk to anything if you see or feel." I say, buttoning my coat and excitement showers in Jack’s face before he pulls himself together an thanks me, heading back to grab his newly bought coat on our latest trips to the biggest city nearby. I don’t think clearly, even I tell myself that it’s a dead case as I twist and turn on one of the beds, I watch him, his silhouette wondering if he would try the attic for his skin, if he would emerge with his eyes a beady black and the skin thicker, smoother and much more gray taking a form I would’ve never linked him to without knowing, yet it had been getting worse as Jack would try to look away from my gaze and I kept it as such. 

Our mind can alter memories to the state it wants, really. You want that forgotten, it will be those who you have met a split second who would be engraved forever, I thought as I looked at Jack, who seemed to be more than excited at the possibility of traveling in a train.

It was a seal on the train, after all.

The trains were rather empty as usual, everyone making a point of not sitting together, as the selkie kept watching the countryside go by, how all the houses built held lives and were all the same, the same kept secrets and idle smooth life, we all craved, they gave out impressions of dollhouses which we would play with to forget and I guess so did our house. You’d smile, wondering about it. 

I crossed my arms to see a young couple walk in, Jack only giving them a sole glance.

I flinched as I started hearing them speak English, knowing that the guy’s gaze falling upon mine was just a question as he started speaking to his companion, waiting for me to speak, as Jack asked me how much longer and I didn’t need to play the accent where from guessing game, as he had done with his companion.

The next couple was someone dressed up as me and it seemed more natural and less disturbing to see someone who reminded you of what was happening outside the core even if there were thousands of us. When you’re bitter about the place you left, you’re bitter about all coming from there. Jack watched me and as he kept watching me, before I looked up, it dawned on me perhaps it was the longest he’d ever look at me with his dark eyes and I couldn’t even move, a bit aroused from his attention. I broke the stare to look at the window to see the fading day, as Jack gave himself time to catch up on all the looking I’ve done at him. 

“What kind of books do you read?” Jack snaps me out of my trance as I just look back at him, his usual cold gaze as if I would have been looking at a lake at night, sucking me in and reminding me of something eternal. 

“Excuse me?” I voice my confusion.

“Well, we are heading out to a city. I figured I might just get you a gift.” He shrugged and scratched his brow. “It is Christmas and I like the whole idea of reading books on Christmas’ Eve as a gift. It’s some Icelandic tradition I heard when I was there, years ago. Seems nice to follow it, again. If you want.”

He adds with a bitter tone and I just smile lightly, hoping that he wouldn’t notice and I just nod.

“So what do you read?” He asks again, making sure that I answer his question. I shrug and the fear of accepting the fact that a state of harmonical friendship is something I would self-destruct against makes matters worse. It gets worse, because the catalyst to each failure is yourself, is the fear that all you’ve thought will collapse and my sudden elevated state is not helping, making feel sufficient energy to break a window and jump off the train, just so that I would never see rejection when love is written under my fingernails and I’m not daft to peel them off. Fear keeps restricting my love which is unwanted, as days go by trains, it gets worse and worse, the room becomes more cluttered with desire and forcing him to do anything that I had considered walking deliberately with him as we would visit Alex and Miles which had a mistletoe under their door frame.

I am my own graveyard. 

“I guess psychological fiction.” I shrug and Jack seems to have his own book choice in mind. I wonder how he looks like as a seal if there is something as odd as a white elephant in an elephant play just because the roles became short. I played God and a white elephant in that play, because God had to wear white, the elephant wore white as well, because there was no time to change.

Was I that as well? With a riffle to all sides?

The wrong melodies come with the wrong memories. I quickly turn off my phone, before texting back that I will be there at the right time to talk with the spirit. I wrap my scarf harder as if the winter is harder to embrace. He holds the silence and I feel more agitated by the fact that I seem to be sole now in my own pain. My whole body seems to break out from a numb cocoon and I just hug myself harder and I feel like picking a fight for the sole reason that I am not to be given something mutual. We’re all brutal and our sole existence narrows down to fucking and fighting.

Misery reminds of the world’s dystopian state and the telly above our heads which shows what happens on both sides, the numbers tolling like strings in a carpet, too many and drawing blood patterns. We have nothing to do, because we don’t matter. No one wants those who survive, because the dead become valuable in the world of Chichikov’s hands. Only Chichikov becomes everyone who wants to be one, choosing the right souls to deal with and solely to please himself. 

Illusion masters itself in all forms, gender and sexuality and maybe the devil is a sole illusion and I wondered if what I had seen was some sort of schizophrenia I wasn’t following and Jack was just an angry dream of mine.

"Hey, Jack, which super powers do you have besides turning back into a seal and fucking off?" Jack just glares at me and I wonder if we both grump at each other revolting in a duplicate culprit situation.

Questions mount the disconnection from reality, the desire to fling things across and desire to consume one’s flesh. There is nothing left. I keep staring at Jack, that I see the selkie feel uncomfortable. We’re all tormented, because the fights are not for us, but rather against us, we’re all here reduced to paper or lack of it, we are not the gleaming eyes, we can’t count the wars and we can’t count the brothers we’ve lost because we are not told how many brothers were killed and at the stake of proving one’s supremacy because I forbid myself,

our existence is not about fucking and fighting, it’s about making sure you’re better than the rest

that even seeps into sex, sadly

Whenever I would feel heartbroken I would imagine Brian sitting opposite me in a train, perhaps he would be wearing a long dress and maybe that’s why he appears wearing such and I try not to muse much on why it happens so that I see him in a dress, looking like Brian as well. 

Brian would get sad and would be far more vocal than I was, when I would prefer to be idle and live, he was the one who would get outraged and ended up getting outraged by himself, losing all touch and both of us threading ourselves out, not counting the droplets of blood and all bodies drenched in substance and lube, looking at each other, realising that no matter how far you’ve come, you may break if it’s not meant to be, even with gritted teeth.

When I looked at Jack, he seemed brighter. 

But Brian would still dominate my thoughts even if Jack’s playing hand was far more tempting and he seemed to lure me in, pulling me harsher and harsher by the leash, his lips ghastly. 

“We seem to be writing our own love stories and our whole life becomes the movies we’ve never seen as children.” He had said once, right after sex, when his insecurities were gone and we would lay side by side, flaccid, all anxiety shredded with simple motions, his make-up smudged, as I would watch the scarps of mascara under his eyelids. Now I could see him sit and say the same thing.

When he’s gone, I realize that I might’ve never said that I loved him enough.

I would grab him into a hug, Brian surprised and nearly tumbling half-way and tell him how I feel and with every time, it seemed to be like a glass of liquor which we had given.

I missed him dearly, but it is not us which commit the mistakes of the beloved. 

And I still miss those in front as I watch Jack, myself making the wrong moves possibly to the wrong man. Despair reaches the lungs, making my breath shorter and more static. Brian was an old liquor which would give me the heaviest and worst hangovers in the morning and fear of denial, since he would choose me over others and I would watch until it eventually became my turn. Being in Sweden made it ironic and I had been to Gothenburg twice already, listening to people and who they had wanted me to listen to.

“Is a selkie the not sexy version of a merman?” I ask Jack just to tick him back.

Honesty only comes at one’s before sleep, that’s when the thoughts are more sincere and then you can’t hide away, it becomes far more sober than dreams, because you’re talking to yourself and you don’t have the excuse of forgetting. It starts getting heavier every day and the fact that I had started going unmedicated made me wonder far too many things and allowing time to slip from around my neck, making me more than aware of what I was feeling, allowing me to fully see Jack as he would shift in his sleep and I would feel him. 

I become bitter from not knowing what to do, that we have started coexisting and I wondered how would it start feeling a few weeks ago and it becomes natural that he walks around and that he stopped leaving the house, tuning my guitar whenever it would get out of tune and that he was the one who offered decorating the tree and my thoughts started swallowing me entirely, I didn’t feel chained but he was far too attentive that I wondered when he would notice and what meal of the day it would’ve been. 

It starts feeling as if I don’t age with time at all and I become more attentive and I even see who is living around us and Jack sometimes looks up himself and stops at the staircase and I wonder how much long would I be able to hold and one night, he excuses to smoke and that’s when I keep the lights on and I decide to sit in the middle of the kitchen, recalling in a fog how Miles and Alex (his boyfriend) had ventured for Christmas to remind how isolated everyone was and how small the interactions were. Once me and Jack got tea at the local cafe and I paid attention how little people spoke and how all the orders were done on the phone and soon enough we were left alone and I wondered if he was with me because there was nothing else.

Was he with me because there was nothing else.

Nothing else at all.

Time was slipping from my hands and a whirlwind and I recall how I had celebrated Valentine’s with Brian and I wondered how much had I changed over the years and how much had there been in a change and how much had I missed myself through depressive episodes. I lit a cigarette, recalling how last night, I realized that I don’t even notice that he’s there, I’m so used to him and to us not touching, even if my whole body aches and I wonder if I myself give enough love for him to keep myself existing and how come I never got asked by anyone, I would just get stared at as I would talk to spirits or ghosts when called over like that time I had taken Jack, walking back, was exhausting and Jack offered me his arm, keeping his questions for later.

And I had asked him, feeling as if I were to sleep, knowing that I would sleep on the way back and I had wanted back home, I had asked him if he wanted to be my Valentine.

He declined.

Last night I had started seeing him ruffle through the clothes, through the lockers, through all the rooms, rummaging and showing me rooms I had not seen (and even the room I had hidden his skin in) to try and find it, because it had been his right, but my body had stared shaking and all memories collapse and relapse

I stand up, still smoking, as I open the door, feeling the dark cold hit me as I keep walking, feeling myself uncomfortable that I even close my eyes to grab the backpack and I take the skin out, recalling how I had yelled back at him

that he would never leave.

I think of burning it in the kitchen, as I waste all of the alcohol bottle I would cook with, but that would cause a house fire, naturally, so I drag the old, worn out thing which Jack has seen the world in and I know that I no longer control myself and that something is going on with the last scratch I had gotten on my arm, how it had stretched and Jack offered to read a prayer

but I declined, for it had done nothing to me when I tried the night before

sometimes it’s better to see how planned things go

to see if you can get out.

I don’t hold and when I don’t even know if it’s the 13th or the 14th of February I drag where the snow is the thinnest and Jack looks at his skin before I drop it on the ground and drop an opened lighter on it. 

I don’t even stay to watch it burn, flipping at him and that’s when I’m sure I’ve got more than scratches and bruises all over my body, because love abuses you.

-

I actually had to edit because I didn't soak Jack's selkie skin in alcohol so then I wrote the next bit for the next chapter. Frankly, I fucked up, I hadn't binged in a while and I was dying to write and I was really inspired to write 500 xD so I've been dying all day and because frankly it's a rough and horror story, it's heavy and yeah, this is my 13th/14th February gift :D

HAPPY VALENTINE'S

I KNOW YOU DON'T READ MY STORIES FOR LIGHT STUFF XD

Anyway, I kind of wanted to honor the holiday and all, I'll see if I'll have something else tomorrow but all stories I'm updating now are heavy and well, I guess this is the best themed gift even if I'm rather a love-love person and I'm celebrating with Callie, it doesn't really change my writing style and I mused regarding last year, since I wrote a one-shot but I really wanted to continue writing my novels and I was in a messy relationship as well last year and I kind of wanted to fix things, didn't so yeah. So pretty much back on track and I asked Callie what had she wanted and we both wanted the new chapter of 500 and this one is big as well xD

I felt bad about the skips because I don't like them but I liked capturing how everything goes past you and you don't notice anything at times, so I liked capturing that. And I wanted Valentine's. And I actually felt bad if I wasn't descriptive enough. I didn't write a lot of 500 in a while or I ahve been slowly, like the train scenes were from the other place we were at, so it was rough time so I kind of find it hard to pick up stories which I wrote in places when I was depressed, but 500 is set where I am now and I really love the story, I wonder how the time skip affects everything but it's not supposed to be a very big novel either but I love it to bits. 

Well, frankly we're getting to the climax? Is that how you call it? XD Jamie burning Jack's skin was one of those first even notes I thought of with a story and all is going by plan. I wonder if this is the part where I go you get cookie if you're figuring out stuff xD Is it obvious? Or do I pretend I have no idea? 

The first phrase surely came from apple cider. I think I was either drinking it or thinking of it xD

500 was the first story I used to frankly set this world's setting and make it even more gruesome so that's why I really enjoy the story and I love that the setting of 500 is just as strong as the plot itself and they're both very interesting and I like that they're very separate, the setting is like a background in a theatre telling the story in it's own way and just highlighting how bad things are. 

I had thought I would have the chapter up through the winter holidays, but I didn't so here xD

I think um, seeing the current unnamed character was really interesting and I will address it later even more and kind of talk of my experience as well, for now, a mystery is a mystery. I hadn't recalled if he had shown up before or not, but here he is, I just sometimes forget which chapters I have posted and which ones I haven't xD

Many stories I write about in stories like 500 are things I've heard or have experienced, the CCTV was told to me and frankly, I get a bit angry when people make things up and lie that they are real, CCTV is one of the real ones, actually and I dunno, I like hearing actual stories, not made up ones, so that's why I make a point of pointing out where's fiction and where is actual things. 

Back as I talked of the trains once we had a guy from London (sorry accent was far too obvious and it was funny because he was trying to determine where was I from and me and Callie also mused on it) and yeah, I kind of took that for the story, because you kind of stare when you see someone else speak among themselves in English even if it's every day, I dunno why. 

And the couple, it was weird to see someone which dressed up like me, only he had been taller and that was it and I was in make-up, it was odd XD

The Iceland tradition was something I had read and used, really, figuring that Jack travelled around. 

And I guess Jamie's one-sided love is frankly a topic which well, fits Valentine's frankly and something we all can relate to (again, when did my blog have anything optimistic xD)

I seem to have a thing to make Jamie talk of Gogol fuck knows why xD Chichikov is a character of Dead Souls, can't even recall what my line of thinking was. 

Sometimes I wonder about my experiences because when you do psychological assesment tests they always ask you about spiritual encounters and that kind of intimidates me frankly and feels very excluding because I understand that it may be a sign, but it's wrong to take off things which are there and you're not the only one which sees and etc.

The Jamie and Jack bickering are one liners me and Callie laugh about which I state as jokes through out the day, so yeah, I guess things like these seep through and it's obvious who my stories are dedicated and written for.

I think I either wrote Brian's phrase post-coital or I just write good post-coital thinking XD

I'm poly so I quite freely give the space for characters to juggle many relationships and feelings at once, frankly.

It's funny that I don't really emphasize where the story is set and I think it's the first time I stated that it's Sweden in the story and I chose Gothenburg even if I've been there once to use. Originally I was going to write about Jamie and his medium sessions in this chapter but don't worry all is ahead xD

What tempted me to write this today was the honesty before bed, which I had last night, it's quite hard frankly to confess even to yourself really straight to the face realizations and I was speaking about it to Callie, I dunno, I've always been open about my partners or people I've crushed on with her so it's very natural for both of us to discuss and even mock around each other xD so I quite like how I had phrased it in the morning and I was frankly lazy to write it down, I was lazy to write down many things today to make sure that I would write today and here I am even with a good backstory xD

I talked about the time skips before in this backstory, sorry, messy I know xD 

It's also the first time I use Miles and Alex's names here fully, yay xD

Me and Callie were drinking tea at a cafe, waiting for the bus and I realized how much antisocial every is (just like us) so that's why I enjoy writing small observations into things like 500 and Blue/Jacket which are set in places I've lived or live frankly.

I kind of thought a bit of my last year's where I was miserable and musing what the fuck to do and this one which is more casual and loved, really. So I kind of did those parallels. 

Jack's reply to make Jamie burn the skin originally was different but I'm sure they would have that talk again. 

Regarding the scratches and bruises I had forgotten that well, they happen in such cases and I got a bruise and a scratch but mine were most likely from packing, I checked, so that reminded me to use it. I'm trying to make a suptle hinting fest, but it's so fucking obvious, isn't it? XD

I decided to specifically post it since it has the whole 13th/14th feel even if this is more for Valentine's with Jamie's love, frankly.

All will make sense if it doesn't.

I love the ending phrase and I deliberately ended there and I dunno, I like the metaphor even if it's surely not love causing what's happening.

I hope you enjoyed it and I hope you will have a good Valentine's and thank you for your love, I love you guys as well

<3

Jamie

Pillshop 3

I stay awake at night, when all is asleep and the television just shows reruns for insomniacs, I pray to make sure I’m not awake during the day and it’s always Kate who storms in with her persona, yanking me by the hair, telling me to awake and to mix green with blue and I’d light a cigarette, chunking the morning (in the afternoon) activities together as we’d head to the garage, and I still yawning in slippers would just mix the fungi, watching her clap as I’d give her the finished product and watch her dissolve and say how she would spread it, as I would just think of sleep and my lone self to please at night.

I want to throw her left earring out of the window when she leaves, the damn thing forgotten as depression slowly seems to root itself in.

I go back to the confession box. I’m sure he’s pissed at me for never confessing. I’m sure the American thinks I’m daft, otherwise he’s daft. 

“I... still do bad things.” I swallow and put my hands in my pockets, I wish I could smoke in church. “I mean, she told me to do it, so I did, not like... she forced me or anything, I just decided to do it, y’know?”

He listens. 

“She can’t abort.” 

“What the fuck?” I snort and I start laughing, pressing myself harder against the wood, but I press my hand against my mouth. The laughter comes out muffled and the priest just sighs, I’m sure he’d want to bang on the wall, but he doesn’t. 

“If God intended the child, the child should be born.” I click my tongue as he says it. I wonder how many morons like me visit church so very often and how come I haven’t been holy enough by now. I start raiding my sling bag for eyeliner and some small black mirror Kate had given me. He talked of abortion and I started putting on eyeliner.

“Mom wanted to abort me.”

“See, good thing she didn’t.”

“If I were to commit suicide now, it would be the same thing, my mother’s thoughts which are now mine take my life away.” The priest is silent. I keep talking and make sure that he cannot interrupt my line of thinking, as I press myself heavier against the wooden box I trapped myself in, pleasing to the pain, feeling patches of my sanity shatter, anxiety take me by the throat and carry me, my limbs no longer cooperating and just becoming thunder. “If epilepsy is seen as something... bad. What about mental health. If people covered people with epilepsy attacks with blankets. What does that make it with mental health.”

I answer my own reply.

“It’s no connection, I just don’t want to hear that everything I do is my own fault, I don’t want to think that I sin. I want to think...” I see his eyes watch me, as he leans a bit lower as I trace my fingers over the wooden barrier, making it feel anonymous. I still have fear for the medication never starts working. “That the sins I commit are God’s even if I were to believe. I do, but I want to know they’re intended.”

“God makes everything for a reason, but you pay for your own sins.” He sighs.

“But if God makes everything, why do we reply for God’s mistakes...” I wonder. “Like war.”

“We are the children, a child carries their parents karma, if you want me to speak.” The priest sighs. “We make our God.”

“That’s not very church-like of you to say.” I mutter, feeling my tongue wrap, as I press my ear, feeling the wood dig me in. 

“When you’re enlightened you understand how difficult and simple everything is.” I’m sure he smiles. “The mystery makes it difficult to understand and when you know, it’s not that the appeal is lost, you just know and that makes it simple. Knowing God’s essence, makes it simple to understand and unravel, but that does indeed not explain the sins, but it’s not your sins to keep in mind and pray.”

He turns his head away, as he stands up and open the confession box to face me. He’s much taller than I am and this is far from the first time we’ve met, but his face seems to speak so. Maybe God did visit him last night.

“I still think I would describe myself as flamboyant.” I keep talking. “I wore a black and gold skirt last night, as I was doing chemistry homework.”

Drugs.

“I think...” And he pauses. “As long as you seek God, which you happen to do.”

“What makes you think I seek God?” I speak out fast.

“You come to church too often, you had wanted to see me, you would’ve asked outside. God wants you here.” I blink at his words and shrug, pulling my legs up to cross them and then I rethink and sit on them, observing the priest. I just look at him, I just shake my thoughts for his sake.

-

I can't even recall when I started writing this, I think I had a bit written and then I just picked it up today and wrote a bit, but I'm proud of myself that I'm slowly coming back to track.

Since I write 500 when it comes to spiritual encoununters and what not, it's odd now writing Pillshop when Jamie doesn't have that gift, since I've let myself give Alex a few encounters and if I want to speak of something, I use Alison as well, speaking of, I should really post a new chapter of To Miles since a lot is happening in the chapter I've written/finishing off. I think of this story so often and the plot was decided so long ago, that I don't even remember all my notes since the first chapter of Pillshop is really old and I shelved the story, but either way, I know when I'm going and I like it.

I dunno, I always liked it and yeah. I'm a bit anxious right now since I've been rather withdrawn from being online and that obviously affected my posting and I'm trying to get myself back, so here I am and I'm proud of myself, just really tired and pissed off, obviously. I'm sorry and yeah. I'm back and I'll try to have stories every day up again since I've got a lot of stuff written and etc:) 

And obviously I've been writing now I'm back to binging even if it's smaller, thing is, hate gets to you and it makes you stale at times. I mean I can take people making a meme out of my writing and hate, but death threats and personal arguements regarding my gender really tore me, frankly, so I should talk about it more openly and I guess expression is something I've been struggling and I noticed how many of my men through stories share similiar expression even if most of my characters stick to traditional, I felt like I could give Jamie my skirt here for Pillshop. I'm actually wearing it and it's lovely and male, mind you xD

So yeah, I've also been thinking a lot about fiction lately because historical facts which aren't touched properly because they're gay is sad, like To Miles is frankly nearly the only gay navy story written which is fucking bizarre, so yeah.

Regarding abortion it's something I was asked last time in church and then I was just told that I was forgotten to be warned about that talk so yeah xD

Abortion was something actually I discussed with a close friend of mine a while ago and the discussion came because I had it and how many were thought to be aborted. I wasn't the case, so yeah, that slipped in here.

I think suicide and church's interpretation is fucked up, but I go by the church is open to everyone, interpretations are wrong belief which I was told and which holds me, so I apologize if this chapter is more religious but Jack is a priest here and Jamie goes to church.

Epilepsy and the covering was a story, which I heard and traumatized me because people saw the person as possessed and it was seen that way and mental health from what I've seen isn't better, specifically certain disorders. 

It's a bit weird writing characters which are distinct from you and kind of jumping to their shoes, but fun for sure.

I had to touch war. We all think of God and war, even if once you get it it's easily explained, really, so yeah.

I kind of went on to think, not knowing and not stating my own assement, but think if not, then let's think on with children and God (NGE style not really xD)

Jack's words regarding God are closer to my own in this case.

I frankly picked up to write Pillshop due to the fact that I wanted to describe my skirt, because I'm tired of men being portrayed as with some light stubble and pants and minimalistic things, because I love my gold and black skirt. I just really love it ok? XD so yeah, I kind of want to I guess as narcisstic as it is make the men a bit more like me, just like anyone, we want to read about ourselves. 

And flamboyant is my favourite word to describe myself.

Everything is fated, so yeah, that's where the end of this chapter comes from.

I hope you enjoyed it and tell me if you did

<3

Jamie

500 4

When I wake up next morning I already can’t remember the exact thought because it had been about Jack and it had already given me the anxiety and allowed denial of the warm feeling, because even I wanted it to go nowhere. The selkie is already nowhere to be seen, but I see my clothes scattered and I presume he had decided along with the opened closets with leftover clothes, that all was for him to dwell upon and choose as attire. I dress up, hastily making myself breakfast before I leave out to realize how early he had woken and dragged me along with him, as I solely exit the premises, now the cats leaving with me and I think I see a shadow and I don’t look up, feeling his presence, as I stroke the cat, as the cat’s skin and fur stretch, it’s back arched and I look up, trying to hold the channel closed, but he’s there, standing, towering for now above me as I stand up and I see him, but not his physical form and then he smirks and starts walking fast towards the bridge, faster and faster, as if dragged somewhere and he quickly looks past his shoulder to see me as he just goes up the hill to the house.

And that’s where I see Jack smoking with the two school boys, now dressed as they all are smoking cigarettes and I see an ouija board in the middle of all of them. 

“Fuck.” And I see him behind Jack, his nails slowly trailing on the selkie, slightly moving his hair and my whole body freezes as I just make a run towards them. 

“We’re trying to summon the Devil.” One of the school boys says, his eyes beaming and Jack just shrugs looking at me. The one with the longer dark fringe, just nods. The Unspeakable just lets go of Jack and looks at me. They can’t see him yet. 

“Don’t.” I barely mutter, feeling his gaze upon me again. They all turn to face me and try to watch me as my eyes just focus on the Devil himself, as my blood keeps going colder and colder, they open the channel and he just laughs, as his physical appearance becomes clear and they all gasp, Jack turning around and they all watch him in awe, no questions uttered. 

He crosses his arms on his chest, watching all four of us, slowly, as the two boys just stare  confused and one of the boys even tries to reach out and I just slap his hand as the Unspeakable, fuck, he’s here anyway, just laughs at me. My whole body starts shaking. 

“Please leave.” I mutter and he just tilts his head to one of his sides and I get a good look at him. His long black hair and dark make-up, dark attire and skinny posture, the books never tell you which appearance he will ever take, for every person it’s different and I’m guessing he just had to feel my presence, just to gamble with me again. He sighs dramatically, rolling his eyes, happy at the circus in front of him, Jack just staring, the two boys beaming as if they had summoned a puppy. 

“I don’t think I’m that unwanted as you want me to be, Jamie.” I raid my pockets for nothing as he watches me. 

“No, no, please stay. Holy fuck, Alex, it’s the fucking Devil.” I just glare at the two boys and he just looks at them, a bit mockingly hurt by their disrespect, as he just sits besides Jack. I am the only one left standing. He opens his arms.

“See? I’m invited. They opened the ouija board, asking for the Devil and voila, here I am.” He smirks and pats Jack’s shoulder. He claps his hands together before a deck emerges. “Any gambling the old fashion way?”

He asks, hair moving as he moves his head from side to side, pointing the deck at everyone. 

“Are you in a fucking hurry, then?” I snap, before I can hold and he just laughs. All your thoughts are nearly said out loud as I feel his presence slowly open my channel, as I can feel him towering above me, his attire sinking into the shadows and becoming flames as I close my eyes, feeling his nails trace against my skin and I bite my lip, holding a groan, apologizing out loud.

“Exactly, that’s better, James. Respect your elderly.” He replies, pointing towards my right jeans pocket. “Cigarettes please.” 

I hold from telling him to summon some satanic tobacco, but I just stretch it to him, but his eyes glister as I give him one cigarette, as everyone else is still smoking and I feel like this is a two-man show as Jack and the two boys still observe me, as he plays me. 

“Fucking refuse.” I feel heavier by the minute, my mind nearly blanking me out. He must’ve been the heavy weight in the woods, as we were biking, but that doesn’t stop him from starting to shuffle as Jack just keeps watching me and that’s when the Devil just watches us as Jack sits closer to me, as my head starts spinning as if I were on a sideways swing and I feel nausea building up within me. Jack blinks a few times before he just pushes me so that my head is on his lap and the Devil just watches us.

Fuck.

“James, my offer is always... always standing.” The Devil says, now shuffling the cards above me. “Or we could do a quick game.”

I just shake my head, watching him shuffle the cards far too fast that all of them could be spade aces and I would never see, barely seeing his fingers and then he just looks at Jack as I try to stabilize my breathing. 

“Jack?” Jack just shakes his head, his fingers in my hair and the Devil just keeps grinning then back to the boys, as the silence is held. 

“Ask him to leave, you summoned him!” I nearly yell, but they just stare at the Devil. Then they look at me before the boy with the longer fringe places the pointer back on the Ouija board. 

“Please leave.” The other boy moans and that’s when the Devil stands up. He observes all of us, stands up and slowly vanishes, but he’s still in my mind for a while, his fingers now on my forehead, as I still see Jack watching me. 

“Close your channel.” The Devil mutters before I concentrate on closing it and then I feel all energy leave me and I feel myself pass out on Jack’s lap. 

When I wake I think I feel Jack’s fingers on my cheek but when I open my eyes he’s sitting in the chair opposite, flicking through some newspaper from a nearby stack and I look around to see Alex with the other boy with the long fringe talking loudly as the noise slowly comes to me, as I look at them and by just catching a glimpse of their discussion, I quickly check my watch, before Jack can even greet me.

“No fucking discussions after midnight. Fucking spare me.” I rant, pulling my sleeve back to hide the watch and I throw myself back on the couch as they just watch me and I hope somehow my words will hit home.

“Evening, Jamie.” Jack smirks at me, slightly raising his dark eyes to look at me and I feel my cheeks heat up a bit as I nod back, wondering if I could even master to talk to him and the whole attraction seems far too infectious. It’s as if I almost wished I hadn’t blacked out and had some dream of him so that it would nourish my attraction, even if once you step over the line it only always gets worse. My dreaming gets stopped as I keep eyes on the two blokes and for some reason I recall them fucking so I close my eyes a bit just to open to see Jack narrowing his eyes at me before letting himself back on the newspaper. 

“What are they doing here, anyway?” I mutter, nearly into the blanket and Jack ignores my question, even turning a page, legs crossed and I let my eyes rest on him as he had changed into some old dark gray shirt of mine and jeans I wonder how did he even squeeze into those, maybe he shrunk and I’m not aware of it as I glance back at Alex and his friend, whose name I’ve yet to know. 

“Jack said he’d rather have us here than summoning since you fainted. What was that all about?” Jack pretends to ignore Alex’s questioning and goes back to reading old newspapers and I wonder how much more dull would they be without reminding of how much we are in turmoil, that Christmas’ December will stroll in but the world is too busy covered in ashes to notice the lack of snow. 

Everything is awfully dull and I don’t even know how much further would our misery expand and if with each day it would just make everything easier to accept, the fatality that we ourselves would detach from reality for we are not the ones on the battlefield, as months went and I had moved, I started wondering how sinful even was it of me not to think of war. 

Looking back everything had its own dystopia feel and under the wrecks of the last days I had spent it only begun to get worse, the streets whitened, business shortened and people just frankly scared because it would happen any minute in any of the undergrounds or over grounds and it was just a matter of sitting as if your position would affect it in the train.

I shake my head, shaking away the crowds or empty trains or blowing steam on the window or just idly sitting thinking that this were the end, that one move was suffice.

I wonder in what flavors would our holidays even be wrapped in, since we seem to be getting nothing as chilly to even cover the ground with. I wonder of the tree and if I would even call Alex and his other friend, but then who are we if not to take others as family in time where death is thicker than any snow to walk upon on this land?

And the dreams of snow come with hidden memories of kissing far too much, I try to shoo my daydream state dipped in night away. And thoughts come sooner before you realize, they come in dream sequence because love comes instantly, it is the mind which allows you to realize how deep it goes later. And the fear strangles me and I excuse myself to see him as something else, some shallow explanation that we are both someone else for society, the fact that I had talked with the unleashed presence from an ouija was far from normal and his entire existence was only dipped in mythology for me. So maybe when it comes as attraction we shouldn’t see it as something unusual if we ourselves define paranormality. 

“I hate how people think because I don’t support one side, that means that I’m fully on the other. I just actually know who kills who and who just looses people on their side to keep some alive.” I breathe, Jack’s eyes now on me and I hope that Alex and his boyfriend would recall us to pour tea. Anxiety would start hitting me as I had just moved here, before this house, wondering what the fuck should I do, where would life go, money was saved and of course the hysteria was oblivious, more jobs were made with ideology lost and gained, but I felt like I needed a piece of mind for now.

"Why don’t you believe in God, though?" Jack keeps reading. "You mentioned it earlier to the…"

He pauses and I wonder if selkies would feel.

"Barber." Perhaps now or could be a lying fucker.

"Maybe because I haven’t met him, I have no idea. Evil makes sense, good doesn’t." I shrug.

He swallows and keeps looking at photos and turns around to point at a photo of protests which turned far too bloody and I can only presume the newspaper is around a year old.

"Never think they would fall, actually, didn’t think it would ever get bloody there. Makes you wonder." He widens his eyes turning the newspaper back and I hear Alex and his friend turn on the kettle, uninvited.

"Well, it makes sense that they would fall, was following the pattern and makes it easier to remind us of havoc. Of course when they would fall since they are the metaphor of our world, so would we all." I smile bitterly, pushing my fringe back, before regretting it and Jack keeps reading old articles to catch up and I wonder how long had he been a seal and if word of mouth even reached him regarding the war and how would it even touch him. As if he had read my mind he raises his eyes and narrows them. “It also confirms in their eyes, that if they fall then the world for them falls, because for us it takes anyone, so...”

Jack shrugs. I wonder how much had he even kept in touch with politics and I don’t even know how much had passed since him and Meg. 

What powers do selkies even have?

And it felt as if more people would be interested in talking to whoever would speak, forest or not. I had that asked and I just shrugged, on my way here, that I would, I could settle here, I was told were a place would be and that if I were to just allow people to speak with more than just people, people would come. I wondered when would I get a call and how long would it even take for the dark long haired man to come as well. I felt sleepy all of a sudden, hugging myself, Jack’s eyes still caught on me. 

Seasons make no sense anymore. 

Tea is no longer comforting and all the scribbling to get out of the mind, to keep sane and keep my own voice hushed just makes it worse, people’s belief that all is fine is draining because everything had been declared and it wasn’t just blood spilling, but lives ending at a great speed, going through with the dark cloak through all the seas and land. 

Jack doesn’t speak a lot, so how am I supposed to know him? But his silence gets all the gaps filled which explain a few things, preserved to my daft mind and my mind wanders towards Meg as the two boys do bring tea over to the living room. Maybe we should expand downstairs, it is a house after all, but like any house, it has softer places and upstairs seems to be it and not to roam at night or any time to be honest.

I miss watching who would be asleep, because I would have some knowledge of who was awake and a melancholy of feeling that all was in depth sleep, while with the forest all was awake and dark. Apart from me, something I had only dipped my toes in yet luring.

Anxiety sleeps tucked in the night, not to be bothered at any times or cost, yet when it wants it shows up and I keep looking at Jack, feeling my body go through a heat wave and I wonder if it’s a sign of working mildly heaters.

I know that Alex and his boyfriend are here and they seem to be my only node of reasoning as I wonder for my bulging desire for the selkie, he seems to lure as if he were a siren.

"Jack… Do Selkies lure like Sirens?" I ask, presuming that sirens are also real.

"Nope, we do kill asshats like you… If they flirt." He narrows his eyes at the text his reading, not allowing someone less thick skinned his attention. I pout mockingly as he raises his eyes and looks at me before returning to old reading. Apparently me and Jack are like a play as the two boys just keep looking at us amused. Jack puts the newspaper down, sighing and taking a sip. 

I wonder how had he even looked as a seal. 

I wonder if we’ll have a future and Lana del Rey would be covered as something artsy just like people would cover these days and I pause, wondering which songs are released as feet drag lives under, soon enough to be their own and I wonder how much more wouldn’t care and would have the diluted desire for some peace and war end, no duality, just plain stubbornness in nothing. 

“I’m not gay, unlike... all of you.” Jack says pointing at all of us in a circle.

“Thanks, Jack, we wouldn’t have known.” I reply in haste, ticked off and bit more sober who I want to pounce on. 

-

I think it's... even symbolic since me and Callie moved back to the house where 500 is set, well, I just really like the region and the story built itself here and I've been itching to post this chapter and well, obviously is a very haunting chapter and I've written perhaps two more chapter of 500, so I really have to keep my mouth shut.

The region is very very... active, it has lots and lots of Spirits and it's really easy to frankly feel or come in contact, if you wish so. But then, I kind of always could sense and I'm not one to bother or talk, so yeah. And also, it's the only time me and Callie have encountered a ghost which I was asking about on tumblr. 

Anyway, just like any time, please don't go summoning or being all brave and checking things out. Stay by your side and well, just like you don't disturb people on the street just don't.

But either way, I've loved writing this story and it also touches explicitly on bizarre encounters I've had and of course I'll include more, since I've had a few and this region is very active. Also if you're religious, prayers are always handy or simple phrases like "please leave" work just as fine. 

I always add this to 500.

The cats actually always check up on me and I'm like... gees, don't shove it in my face xD

To be honest, as disrespectful as it is, I choke on a laugh when it comes to Miles lines in the story, please don't mess with an Ouija Board, enough people did it for you to google it xD

Or even ask me and I'll tell you some encounter I've had since I've been visited a few times by a bunch of different ones through life, just no Ouija Boards and neither do I encourage any type of summoning. I mused on it, if you're interested in feeling I guess what it's like it's ok to go somewhere at daylight and be quiet and pay attention, because many of those places are forests or frankly really pretty cemeteries, but don't, I'm just saying if you're itching, that's how my head is most of the time only with visuals at times and conversations.

So that's why I like 500 because it's so descriptive and interactive and I talk about it, openly, really.

Ok, well, frankly, I don't really know obviously what I encounter at times and I leave it that and of course in stories I start speculating and patching things together, when I did, I wasn't sure and yeah, over time I guess I thought it over. It was very very bizarre and I think only another encounter could maybe top with it in oddness? Bizarreness? Anyway, you get it. Again, shape-shifter so I don't really speak of what I had seen, so Jamie here in 500 has his own version if you must. If it helps, you know what you encounter. 

I think the fact that the shape-shifting happens it's fairly odd that you can see people you know and etc, so I used that and it's also discussed in '-' in a different aspect as well.

Regular summoning works rarely as I found out, but when I had it, I had my "portal" yanked out for a very very good while and it was a mess, I literally fucked up and I went movie style to explore and that resulted in my portal being yanked open and I don't even know how much I had encountered that night. So it's really something out of the ordinary unless y'know you have been chosen to be visited to be asked of an offer, I presume. Again, I can only speak from experience and from what I've read.

The cards idea came from one of my favourite ghost stories which I had heard back when I visited Glamis Castle, basically some dukes of sorts were playing cards and you can't play cards on a Sunday, but they kept playing, He showed up and they joyfully said "I wish we could play forever" and they did. The room is now locked and at some time and day if you drink enough, you hear. And in general I like card motifs since I fortune tell on them :) so I took that briefly.

There are some rules I follow, like not discussing such topics after midnight outloud, so yeah, I'm silent now xD and just posting it and all xD (I know, but hey, encounter stuff I did and you'd be just as cautious) 

When I had written it, I didn't believe, I guess, yeah, now, I consider myself Religious and yeah, but I'll surely speak of that later on when the time in 500 comes. 

Staying here and in general since I was a child I would stay up late and I enjoy watching buildings with barely any lights on or all off. I dunno, yeah and I speak of it often in stories.

Also I've been very inactive, I'm sorry, I'll be changing that and soon enough back to my one-a-day so yeah. And 500 is fitting because it's one of the most realistic I've written giving the feeling of dystopia I have with war going on, even if in 500 it's kind of set during some dystopic WWIII scenario which I relate to and all. 

I love this story for being open with it on different subjects which I don't usually cover too often.

I hope you enjoyed it:3

And thank you so much

<3

Jamie