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thecalimack

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About thecalimack

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  1. I keep going offline since I'm trying to set up my life as a graduate a.k.a. a jobless hack. But yeah, I'm graduating this weekend so I'm super excited.
    And terrified.

     

    If you guys want to get a website done, just let me know, too. I can give you a great deal.

    Only half-joking.

    But yeah, hope to get back to writing in-between job-hunting. Thank God Youtube kinda helps

    1. Valkyrie

      Valkyrie

      Congratulations :D  

  2. thecalimack

    Call Me Mother

    I guess you can say I'm trying to resonate with a desire I have, haha. Glad it came off as tangible and believable!
  3. thecalimack

    Call Me Mother

    I couldnr come up withba drag name so that one had to do. 😂😂😂 He has a snark streak, as exemplified by the other short I made of him, haha I was actually trying to make my own anthology of cathartic stories and hoping a publisher picks it up. Not sure how a newbie can set foot into the industry but I always wanted to.
  4. I think my thesis made me dumb omg help

    1. Valkyrie

      Valkyrie

      Graduate school has that effect.  lol  :hug: 

  5. thecalimack

    Call Me Mother

    Tristan often liked to take walks on a late night in the city. He knew the safe routes almost as well as the local street rats, and he was unimposing and unremarkable enough to be easily ignored. He used to frequent the darker allies and the nastier sides of town before he moved in with Miguel, before his Incident a couple of months ago. But he'd been lonely for so long that he didn't think to reach out to his old friends. The Hovel was in a nameless building that could pass off as a residential complex. A generous John had the place soundproofed so they wouldn't get too many complaints on noise or suspicious folk. There was a back entrance everyone knew, but he had privilege to use the front entrance. The usual bouncer Donny was a bicurious man he got to know on his first day getting lost in the city at night. He was a nice guy who was as tough as nails. His muscles writhed underneath his shirt, and he had a bunch of ladies loitering by the club entrance, flirting with him. When Tristan waved a greeting, Donny beamed. "Oi, look who decided to show back up again!" "Just a lot of things that kept me away," Tristan answered. "Is Miss Leggo in?" "She's opening the floor, actually." Donny looked over his shoulder towards the door. "I think they're just about to start." "Can I come in then?" "Sure, go on ahead." Despite the scandalized looks of the ladies in line, Tristan stepped inside, blasted with the warm air of the secret club and the scent of alcohol and other things he wasn't sure he could define. The music coursed through his body, each thump pulling a beat from his heart, and each thought punctuated with a snare or a clap. He followed the noise and the people towards the lower levels, where the main stage took place. He vaguely heard someone over the speakers, just a step above the music the DJ was playing that night. He politely made his way through and found himself by the bar, where the barkeep noticed him right away and greeted him with a glass of milk, his old usual. "Back from the dead?" the barkeep yelled over the music. Tristan snorted, recalling how things would have ended if it weren't for Miguel. "Haven't heard from you in a while. Saw you around the past few weeks but you looked busy." The barkeep waggled his eyebrows to punctuate his statement. Tristan flipped him off, grinning. "Well, I found someone who helped me through a rough patch." "Ooh! You finally got yourself a sugar daddy?" "I think I'm still the sugar daddy," Tristan scoffed. "Where's Miss Leggo?" "Just wrapping up her speech." The barkeep pointed towards the stage, where Miss Leggo, in full regalia, was addressing the rest of the house. "You can wait here. She usually grabs a glass of vodka after her speeches." Tristan got into as much conversation as he could with the barkeep, catching up on how everyone was doing. He wasn't a member of the House, per se. But he visited often enough to be recognized as a friend. He was lost one night, when he was living alone, when he decided to go to a nightclub. One of the femme queens chose to sit by and talk to him, probably con him into something when Tristan offered to get midnight dinner instead. He was deemed the 'adopted sister' since, a sort of honorary member. But he hadn't seen the value in that extension of friendship until... well, until after Miguel came for him. He wondered how people would have reacted to his suicide. Back then, he didn't care. He didn't doubt these girls would bounce back without him, but the fact that they made him part of their routine, well, it would have scarred them if he suddenly offed himself. He realized how much he distanced himself from them by never giving his details. He met them only at nights, and it bothered him how detached he was from them. He recalled his reasoning: he wasn't a real house member. he didn't dance for them, or walked for them, or did much in terms of being a member of the House. He was just a family friend, in retrospect. Nothing more. And yet... There was a tap on his shoulder as he finished his glass. The House Mother, Leggo Mayeggo, was smiling down at him, warm and sweet as she could be under maybe three layers of makeup. "My prodigal child returns." "As a writer, I feel we should come up with a better euphemism." She patted his head and sat beside him, taking a startlingly large mug of vodka in her hands. Even now, Tristan wasn't used to the sight of that much vodka in a glass. "How have the girls been?" "Well, we beat House Chinchilla at their home turf last month," she remarked with a vicious glint in her eyes. "Oh, I'd been meaning to win that one. I ahd a bet with their House Mother and I can't wait to collect." She took a few swigs of her upsized vodka before sighing. "But I haven't seen youa round, kitten. Where'd you run off to?" "Do you want the summary or the full truth?" Tristan laughed, but he saw the look in her eyes. It was assessing. It was the sort of eyes that was digging for information, suggesting to you not to even bullshit her. She commanded people with unparalleled charisma. It was no wonder she was deemed 'Mother' of the House. "Alright, if you want all the details, I prefer a more quiet place." "Let's go to my room," she offered. She led the way, people parting for her and her fur coat as if she were the next Messiah. Tristan studiously followed behind her, keeping his eyes fixed on the way she led and not on the people giving him odd looks. He vaguely greeted the other girls and residents of the complex, all abandoned youth or young little boys and girls who left their homes because their family wouldn't accept them. He realized how much he had in common with these people the first few days he was around the complex for visits. He was one of those who had more options with earning money. He was one of the lucky ones. Leggo Mayeggo busted down her door with a kick, the door swinging open and revealing a couple about to get nasty on her bed. Tristan would have been shocked if he hadn't heard of what the boys and girls often talked about when he used to come by. "Alright, boys, out of the room! We got a heart-to-heart to deal with." The boys scampered out of the room and Miss Leggo ushered Tristan inside. "Was that alright?" Miss Leggo locked her door and slid the bolt into place. "I have locks on my drawers and safes and I make sure no one steals from me. Don't worry about it." Awkwardly, they sat side by side on the ornate bed. Tristan debated how he would tell her what happened since he'd been gone. So he started from the beginning. There was something in Miss Leggo that softened. Tristan wasn't sure what to make of it as he pressed on, explained how Miguel came at the right moment, how everything felt like broken glass until he dumped it all in the trash and started life from scratch with someone who lovd him so much. Miss Leggo was patting her cheeks with her sleeves. "Oh, darling. That's tragic and beautiful." "It's a little silly," Tristan argued. "I could have... I could have come here, but I couldn't." "Why didn't you, though?" Tristan shrugged. "I'm not one of your girls." "Bullshit," she snapped, the sweet tone of her voice giving way to the man underneath. "Baby, that's not true. You know what I offered you when you bought me dinner. You know how the girls and I all love you." "I don't dance or sing like that. Or even walk. I'm... you know this scene is not usual for me." Miss Leggo leaned back, pursing her lips. "No, but that doesn't mean you aren't family." Before Tristan could ask, she stood up from her perch and walked up to her desk. She pulled a book from one of its drawers and handed it to Tristan. Tristan carefully opened the pages, finding different pictures of the House with different members. "The family has never been just about winning trophies, as much as I love shiny things," she teased. Her tone warmed to something sterner as she continued. "It's about bringing queens together, darling. It's about being a family where everyone else ahs failed so many of us. You don't have to be a dancer any more than any of my girls has to be so butch or so femme. We're a family. All of us." Tristan gently pushed the book away to wipe at his eyes. "Stop, I'm an ugly crier." Miss Leggo sat down close and pulled him into a hug. "My poor baby, you didn't have to make yourself so alone. It's a good thing your sexy army man came to save you." "Shut up, he's just alright." "Nope. I bet he's sexy. You told me that one story about high school, didn't you?" "I regret that." "No, you don't." She pulled away to plant a kiss on his forehead. "Baby, don't ever be afraid to come back here. And next time? Call me Mother." Tristan nodded. "Okay." "So when do I get to meet your young man?" "Do you have to?" Miss Leggo gave him a look that had Tristan snorting. "Tristan, darling, we gotta make sure we get rid of that heterosexuality of his. You know how much pining you had when you talked about him?" "Oh my god, fine. We'll make him gayer. Maybe Tuesday?" "Day or night?" Tristan rolled his eyes. "Day. We gotta ease him into it." "Good. We'll pop his cherry!" Tristan glowered at her. "Figuratively, honey. Relax!" "It better be figuratively. Or else there's hell to pay." Tristan looked at the time, honestly surprised more than an hour had passed. "Should we head back?" "Of course." Miss Leggo stood up and offered him her hand. "Your milk might have gotten warm." "You know I like the warm milk," Tristan answered with a salacious smirk. Miss Leggo pinched his cheek. "Hey, you left yourself open for that one."
  6. thecalimack

    Call Me Mother

    Some time after "the Incident", Tristan decides to pay a visit to some old friends. A follow-up/sequel to Can't A Guy Visit A Friend
  7. thecalimack

    Call Me Mother

    Tristan often liked to take walks on a late night in the city. He knew the safe routes almost as well as the local street rats, and he was unimposing and unremarkable enough to be easily ignored. He used to frequent the darker allies and the nastier sides of town before he moved in with Miguel, before his Incident a couple of months ago. But he'd been lonely for so long that he didn't think to reach out to his old friends. The Hovel was in a nameless building that could pass off as a residential complex. A generous John had the place soundproofed so they wouldn't get too many complaints on noise or suspicious folk. There was a back entrance everyone knew, but he had privilege to use the front entrance. The usual bouncer Donny was a bicurious man he got to know on his first day getting lost in the city at night. He was a nice guy who was as tough as nails. His muscles writhed underneath his shirt, and he had a bunch of ladies loitering by the club entrance, flirting with him. When Tristan waved a greeting, Donny beamed. "Oi, look who decided to show back up again!" "Just a lot of things that kept me away," Tristan answered. "Is Miss Leggo in?" "She's opening the floor, actually." Donny looked over his shoulder towards the door. "I think they're just about to start." "Can I come in then?" "Sure, go on ahead." Despite the scandalized looks of the ladies in line, Tristan stepped inside, blasted with the warm air of the secret club and the scent of alcohol and other things he wasn't sure he could define. The music coursed through his body, each thump pulling a beat from his heart, and each thought punctuated with a snare or a clap. He followed the noise and the people towards the lower levels, where the main stage took place. He vaguely heard someone over the speakers, just a step above the music the DJ was playing that night. He politely made his way through and found himself by the bar, where the barkeep noticed him right away and greeted him with a glass of milk, his old usual. "Back from the dead?" the barkeep yelled over the music. Tristan snorted, recalling how things would have ended if it weren't for Miguel. "Haven't heard from you in a while. Saw you around the past few weeks but you looked busy." The barkeep waggled his eyebrows to punctuate his statement. Tristan flipped him off, grinning. "Well, I found someone who helped me through a rough patch." "Ooh! You finally got yourself a sugar daddy?" "I think I'm still the sugar daddy," Tristan scoffed. "Where's Miss Leggo?" "Just wrapping up her speech." The barkeep pointed towards the stage, where Miss Leggo, in full regalia, was addressing the rest of the house. "You can wait here. She usually grabs a glass of vodka after her speeches." Tristan got into as much conversation as he could with the barkeep, catching up on how everyone was doing. He wasn't a member of the House, per se. But he visited often enough to be recognized as a friend. He was lost one night, when he was living alone, when he decided to go to a nightclub. One of the femme queens chose to sit by and talk to him, probably con him into something when Tristan offered to get midnight dinner instead. He was deemed the 'adopted sister' since, a sort of honorary member. But he hadn't seen the value in that extension of friendship until... well, until after Miguel came for him. He wondered how people would have reacted to his suicide. Back then, he didn't care. He didn't doubt these girls would bounce back without him, but the fact that they made him part of their routine, well, it would have scarred them if he suddenly offed himself. He realized how much he distanced himself from them by never giving his details. He met them only at nights, and it bothered him how detached he was from them. He recalled his reasoning: he wasn't a real house member. he didn't dance for them, or walked for them, or did much in terms of being a member of the House. He was just a family friend, in retrospect. Nothing more. And yet... There was a tap on his shoulder as he finished his glass. The House Mother, Leggo Mayeggo, was smiling down at him, warm and sweet as she could be under maybe three layers of makeup. "My prodigal child returns." "As a writer, I feel we should come up with a better euphemism." She patted his head and sat beside him, taking a startlingly large mug of vodka in her hands. Even now, Tristan wasn't used to the sight of that much vodka in a glass. "How have the girls been?" "Well, we beat House Chinchilla at their home turf last month," she remarked with a vicious glint in her eyes. "Oh, I'd been meaning to win that one. I ahd a bet with their House Mother and I can't wait to collect." She took a few swigs of her upsized vodka before sighing. "But I haven't seen youa round, kitten. Where'd you run off to?" "Do you want the summary or the full truth?" Tristan laughed, but he saw the look in her eyes. It was assessing. It was the sort of eyes that was digging for information, suggesting to you not to even bullshit her. She commanded people with unparalleled charisma. It was no wonder she was deemed 'Mother' of the House. "Alright, if you want all the details, I prefer a more quiet place." "Let's go to my room," she offered. She led the way, people parting for her and her fur coat as if she were the next Messiah. Tristan studiously followed behind her, keeping his eyes fixed on the way she led and not on the people giving him odd looks. He vaguely greeted the other girls and residents of the complex, all abandoned youth or young little boys and girls who left their homes because their family wouldn't accept them. He realized how much he had in common with these people the first few days he was around the complex for visits. He was one of those who had more options with earning money. He was one of the lucky ones. Leggo Mayeggo busted down her door with a kick, the door swinging open and revealing a couple about to get nasty on her bed. Tristan would have been shocked if he hadn't heard of what the boys and girls often talked about when he used to come by. "Alright, boys, out of the room! We got a heart-to-heart to deal with." The boys scampered out of the room and Miss Leggo ushered Tristan inside. "Was that alright?" Miss Leggo locked her door and slid the bolt into place. "I have locks on my drawers and safes and I make sure no one steals from me. Don't worry about it." Awkwardly, they sat side by side on the ornate bed. Tristan debated how he would tell her what happened since he'd been gone. So he started from the beginning. There was something in Miss Leggo that softened. Tristan wasn't sure what to make of it as he pressed on, explained how Miguel came at the right moment, how everything felt like broken glass until he dumped it all in the trash and started life from scratch with someone who lovd him so much. Miss Leggo was patting her cheeks with her sleeves. "Oh, darling. That's tragic and beautiful." "It's a little silly," Tristan argued. "I could have... I could have come here, but I couldn't." "Why didn't you, though?" Tristan shrugged. "I'm not one of your girls." "Bullshit," she snapped, the sweet tone of her voice giving way to the man underneath. "Baby, that's not true. You know what I offered you when you bought me dinner. You know how the girls and I all love you." "I don't dance or sing like that. Or even walk. I'm... you know this scene is not usual for me." Miss Leggo leaned back, pursing her lips. "No, but that doesn't mean you aren't family." Before Tristan could ask, she stood up from her perch and walked up to her desk. She pulled a book from one of its drawers and handed it to Tristan. Tristan carefully opened the pages, finding different pictures of the House with different members. "The family has never been just about winning trophies, as much as I love shiny things," she teased. Her tone warmed to something sterner as she continued. "It's about bringing queens together, darling. It's about being a family where everyone else ahs failed so many of us. You don't have to be a dancer any more than any of my girls has to be so butch or so femme. We're a family. All of us." Tristan gently pushed the book away to wipe at his eyes. "Stop, I'm an ugly crier." Miss Leggo sat down close and pulled him into a hug. "My poor baby, you didn't have to make yourself so alone. It's a good thing your sexy army man came to save you." "Shut up, he's just alright." "Nope. I bet he's sexy. You told me that one story about high school, didn't you?" "I regret that." "No, you don't." She pulled away to plant a kiss on his forehead. "Baby, don't ever be afraid to come back here. And next time? Call me Mother." Tristan nodded. "Okay." "So when do I get to meet your young man?" "Do you have to?" Miss Leggo gave him a look that had Tristan snorting. "Tristan, darling, we gotta make sure we get rid of that heterosexuality of his. You know how much pining you had when you talked about him?" "Oh my god, fine. We'll make him gayer. Maybe Tuesday?" "Day or night?" Tristan rolled his eyes. "Day. We gotta ease him into it." "Good. We'll pop his cherry!" Tristan glowered at her. "Figuratively, honey. Relax!" "It better be figuratively. Or else there's hell to pay." Tristan looked at the time, honestly surprised more than an hour had passed. "Should we head back?" "Of course." Miss Leggo stood up and offered him her hand. "Your milk might have gotten warm." "You know I like the warm milk," Tristan answered with a salacious smirk. Miss Leggo pinched his cheek. "Hey, you left yourself open for that one."
  8. thecalimack

    A Little Reunion

    Oh hey! Thank you so much! These two started out as just a way for me to vent. Haha.
  9. I think the scary part about being able to write drama and sad pieces so well is that I'm drawing from my own negative energy.
    I dish out good tear-jerkers but it just means that I'm so in-tune with my inner sadness that it tends to be visceral.

    I mean, I look at my happy fluffy stuff and they're all half-finished or half-baked. It's sort of surreal. :D
    Does anyone know any fluffy, happy, tooth-rotting pieces of happy to recommend me?

    1. BHopper2

      BHopper2

      I've found a lot of sappy romances here on GA. Check out @Timothy M.'s Angel and Imp trilogy of Anthology One-Shots. Those will put a smile on your face.

    2. Timothy M.

      Timothy M.

      LOL, I can't believe a story of mine get listed as sappy romance. :huh:  But thanks for the shout-out, BHopper2.

  10. thecalimack

    A Little Reunion

    Being introduced to another circle of friends puts some things to perspective. A follow-up/sequel to the short story Can't A Guy Visit A Friend: Story Link:
  11. thecalimack

    A Little Reunion

    "This is a terrible idea." "We're just meeting with my old bunkmates." "Correction: you are. I'll be at the 7-11 eating ice cream and fried chicken until you're done." Miguel cast an exasperated look at Tristan. After 'The Incident', Tristan decidedly quit whatever job he had to focus on writing and was bunking and vlogging it up at Miguel's apartment. They shared rent, dinner, and responsibilities. But now, some of Miguel's friends were dropping by for a visit and some nights to themselves, and Tristan was reluctant to join them. "Tristan, they're not that bad. They're great guys. And this is just a pub." "Miguel," Tristan similarly intoned, and wow, Tristan was a little shit when he was pissy. Miguel almost forgot about that. "What is there for me to talk about with them? I don't know anything about the military. I may as well be a bloody wallflower while you all catch up or something." "It's just a bunch of discharged guys. Chill, will you? And we're getting to know each other, so just like meeting any stranger: basics." "Basics," Tristan scoffed. "I don't think there was any improvement since that circuit party you dragged me to before you went on tour." Miguel recalled seeing Tristan huddled to a corner of the bar nursing a full cup of rum and coke. Yeah, that memory was depressing. "This is different. More relaxed. Trust me," Miguel assured him, but Tristan didn't budge one bit. "Tristan, please." Tristan let out a long-suffering sigh. "Why can't I ever say no to you?" "Goes both ways," Miguel murmured, but was smiling either way. "Just be yourself; you'll be fine." "Shall I remind you of my bedroom?" Miguel shuddered at the thought of that memory. It may have been a couple of weeks since 'The Incident', but it was enough of an image and a potential thought to run his blood cold. "That's not funny." Tristan shrugged, not caring. "Sorry. My humor is hit and miss. Might as well shoot and see where it lands." Tristan was being a little shit on purpose. Miguel wasn't letting him back out, however. And he knew Tristan would behave once they settled down. *** Meeting with what amounted to Miguel's old team was interesting for Tristan. They reminded him of people who bullied him in high school and ignored him in college but with a look in their eyes that said they wisened up. When asked who he was, Tristan fumbled over the word 'friend' for a moment. They sat at a booth just beside one of the windows and all had a beer. Save Tristan, who much to everyone's laughter, ordered a literal glass of milk. On the rocks. "You sure he's over twenty, Miguel?" Robby, one of the bigger blonds in the group asked. "He's kinda small to begin with, then he orders the milk." "Beer and whiskey aren't my thing," Tristan argued, not at all fazed; he's had this discussion before. "Plus, milk is awesome." "Well, I like him," Jazz, a lady sporting a ponytail made from dreads, announced, ruffling his hair. "He reminds me of my brother. So good-natured." "Yeah!" Will agreed, the smaller-but-still-big blond said around a mouthful of burger. "Heesh ador--bul Mi-. Wher- -ou ge- -im?" Miguel made a face at his pig of a friend. "Bro, don't talk with your mouth full." "Oh, that's what you told me last night." Everyone choked on their drink, sputtering, coughing, snorting and laughing. They snapped their eyes to Tristan, who sipped at his milk. "What?" Will was saving whatever remnants of burger was on the table. Jazz was cackling with the others while Miguel grinned. "Dude, I didn't think he knew sex jokes." "What do I look like, four?" Tristan shot back, downing his drink. The milk moustache killed the serious look on his face. "I'll have you know there is nothing wrong with drinking someone's milk at a bar." "This is going to go so badly," Jazz snickered. "Didn't think you'd know that kind of language, young'un." "We're not that far apart in age," Tristan argued, leaning back into his seat, just the slightest bit tilted Miguel's way. "Otherwise, I can't regal the one time I turned tricks at the library." "W-What?" Miguel sputtered, but Tristan shot back a wink. Miguel was caught between dumbfounded, impressed, and outraged. "Tristan, that was--" "How Miguel and I first met," Tristan lied, blatantly. The entire table was crossed between believing him or not. "How about this? I tell a story, and try to piece together what isn't bullshit. Sound fun?" Will rubbed his hands together, damp from whatever he spilled and eager to play. "Oh, this is so much more fun than our drinking games." Tristan hunched over the table, fingers steepled like the little devil he was. "Then you'll get a kick out of this." *** Miguel didn't think they could do three stories, but there it was. Tristan managed to whip out three half-baked, ridiculous stories laced with only a sliver of truth in little under an hour, each one detailed and entertaining, further exemplifying his creative imagination. Anyone who got their guess wrong had to drink a shot, and Tristan managed to get them all just a few drinks short of drunk. Miguel was impressed, even as they settled the tab and noticed how Tristan had just finished his milk. He found his friend to be a continuous ray of light. Tristan was beaming as he chatted up Jazz. The two were like long-lost siblings, having found each other after being decades apart. It was clear that Jazz was now fond of Tristan, and it wouldn't be long before she found him as someone worth keeping around. They all filed out of the bar and headed for the playground, where they splayed out on the sand and the jungle gym to admire the stars, some of them falling asleep on the spot while others maintaining enough sobriety to talk. Jazz was clearly a heavyweight. She only looked just a bit tipsy. But then again, she didn't chug down like the others did. Miguel was having trouble keeping his eyes open but he could still make sense of everything around him. Jazz and Tristan were talking more quietly than normal, but Miguel could make it out as he tried desperately not to conk out. "You must be really fun at parties." "Not really," Tristan laughed. "I was just never invited. People don't think I'm fun just because I don't drink, and it was always something to make fun of. I stopped trying after the last circuit party Miguel dragged me in." Jazz cooed apologetically while Miguel could barely hear Robby snicker from the bottom of the jungle gym. "He must have felt like shit." "I left early. He only found out weeks later that I skipped out." Jazz offered a wry smile in sympathy. "You sound bitter." "Do I?" Tristan asked earnestly. He turned on his side as he faced Jazz. "Guess it's hard. I try so hard to fit in, but I don't, and it just frustrates me how it's so fine with everyone then give me hell for it when I don't. I got tired of standards. I think Miguel did, too, at some point." "At some point?" "He was frat boy material back then. Absolute fuckboy who flexed every chance he got. Only nicer," Tristan began, glancing over fondly at Miguel, who looked to be asleep, at least. But at this point, it didn't really matter. "Even back then, I loved him." "Oh wow, you two?" Jazz asked, pleasantly surprised if her grin was anything to go by. "He didn't mind me one bit, but his friends were another story." Tristan laid back down and stared at the stars, letting his fingers trace over old memories that played with the starlight. "I was either given the cold shoulder or messed around with because of it. I was keeping it under wraps, but when he found out, he went ballistic on them and spent a month trying to tell me that I was enough. Silly bastard." "...Guess he loves you, too." "Maybe, but... I don't know. There weren't any words." "Do you need them?" Tristan sat up to gesture more openly. "In my course, there's a thing called context. What is something for me may be something completely different for someone else. That often leads to misunderstandings." "Don't you have a pretty good context of your best friend?" Tristan met Jazz's eyes with a strange sense of finality. "I was there when he decided to enlist in the military. And I was just around here while he was there and no doubt keeping his troop alive with every fiber of his being, like the rest of you do. We've been years apart. How do I know I still hold so much value?" "He came back for you, didn't he?" "He came back for his family. I'm just a detour." Jazz had a soft look in her eyes. Tristan watched as she sat up to level him with a look. "I don't think so. He talked about you a lot, you know. At base. Often said he had a friend always waiting for him, writing him letters." Tristan sat up, huffing and stomping down a laugh. "Well, we were pen pals for a while. Eventually, we both wound up busy." "I heard you two send each other letters and emails constantly." "I was just there to answer back." "It's still more than what some people get," Jazz argued. "Look, Tristan, half the time, he tells us you're the only reason he hasn't lost his mind yet. It was... bad, when we were out there. I was glad they even discharged him." "And the rest of you?" "Our psych evals didn't deem us fit to return to duty," Jazz muttered. "Not all of us, but a lot of us relied on Miguel. When he left, well, things just went downhill for a lot of us. I just couldn't seem to work well with my new squad and that put all of us at risk. Everyone else with us right now has it differently, but it basically amounts to us having a major breakdown." Tristan was quiet as he considered that information. "I'm sorry." "Don't be. We enlisted because we didn't really have much of a direction to go to. But I think I had some chance to think about it those last days after Miguel left. Not sure what made me think, but I did. And I guess some time with my own family will help clear up the details." "You sound like you're still hunting down that path." "Well, I know where I want to go now. Just need some help clearing up the details." "It'll come to you," Tristan found himself promising, and he knew this to be a truth. "Just ring me up if you need a second opinion. I hear I help people come up with the best ideas." "Well, you're pretty sharp. I don't doubt it." They laid there for a while, just staring at stars. Miguel watched Tristan shift in his place before the smaller man decided to jump lithely off the jungle gym. Tristan made his way to him and pulled him up from his spot. "Come on, let's get your friends to their motel and we can go home and sleep." "Actually, how about we all crash at Mig's place?" Jazz suggested. Miguel was overruled by three resounding votes. "Good! It's settled." And that was how Tristan found himself helping Miguel sort out the sleeping arrangements in the living room. In all honesty, it was like arranging a sleepover for a bunch of kids. Some called dibs on the couch while others just laid on the floor with practiced ease. Even Miguel managed to finaggle himself close to the television. Tristan was about to head to his bed when he was gracelessly put into the armchair, for 'solidarity's sake'. Miguel was by the foot of the armchair, looking up at him. "Comfy?" he asked his dear friend. Tristan shrugged. "Been better, been worse," he answered, bringing a foot down to tap the man's shoulder. "There'll be hell to pay in the morning." Miguel laughed softly, giving his friends one quick glance. "You were never a detour, Tristan." It took a moment for Tristan to recognize what he meant. "A little hard to believe, but okay." "Good night, Tristan." Miguel shuffled closer to Tristan's feet, even giving the toe a quick kiss. "Love you." Tristan found himself smiling, stabbing his big toe on the man's cheek. "Love you, too, you goof."
  12. It's really depressing when your friends make plans without you even when you haven't done anything that would warrant offense at all. Like you're left out and aren't worth anything.

     

    Makes you feel like mighty right garbage, don't it?

    1. Show previous comments  3 more
    2. Puppilull

      Puppilull

      It's not a good feeling...

    3. thecalimack

      thecalimack

      I'm always the one who has to bend over in pretzels to arrange something with them. It's just a mess.

    4. drpaladin

      drpaladin

      It never pays to be too compliant or eager to alter schedules to meet the wants or demands of others. You'll be taken advantage of endlessly. It gives the impression your time isn't valuable.

  13. thecalimack

    Southern Expressions List/Notes

    I must be very blessed, then. But seriously, I thought it could be one of either.
  14. So the Southern dialect interested me so I figured I'd try to compile them. Feel free to add and/or correct any entries or expound on any. I'm making this so that people who are looking to write 'Southern' characters could gain some insights. DICLAIMER: I'm no Southerner. I just try to research.
  15. I will forever dance to the Electric Lady

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