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thecalimack

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About thecalimack

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    Male
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    Gay
  • Age
    23
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    Everything
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    youtube, gaming, writing, calisthenics, running, singing, drawing

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  1. Photos

    It seems weird that I could write tragedy so well, haha. Thanks for your thoughts
  2. Photos

    It IS pretty gruesome.
  3. Photos

    I'm starting to think shorts are my forte, haha
  4. Photos

    I'm starting to think shorts are my forte, haha
  5. Photos

    WARNING: Mentions of Suicide A man finds himself alone in his room, with photos taunting him. Taunting, with no need for words. Made as an antithesis to Can't A Guy Visit A Friend
  6. Photos

    The room was what you'd expect from a teenage football star at their high school: vibrant, walls painted in blue with awards and medals on shelves, pictures of trophies being held up, teammates gathered for the picture, of the current girlfriend stealing a kiss with the star. The desk was messy with stationary and other paraphernalia, and the room was slightly cluttered. But the life in the room was sucked away by the young man in a black suit, looking over the contents of the discarded brown envelope that now laid on the ground. Photos. Each photo a printed memory of simple moments of his life. Mixed in with them were candid shots, imperfect but striking in their own right. Each candid shot was focused on him, almost everything else blurred away. There were sketches, too; little attempts at recreating a memory missed. All this dedication screamed love, adoration. Holding them in his hands now was baffling. His arms were tense, the hands surprisingly gentle, fearing they would crumple the delicate sheet of paper. His chest felt hollow as he looked around his room, the realization dawning on him in a way that he never felt before. There was no grief like this before. This alien feeling wormed its way inch by insipid inch into his heart the moment he heard the news. It was a fight. A simple fight. He thought it was, at least. It all started with what he thought was a joke, a silly joke that his friend kept pushing. He was drunk, too; not in his right mind. But he should have figured that the less he saw his friend, the worse it was getting. He should have seen the signs. He remembered little hints: catching glimpses of him eating alone outside the cafeteria, his own friends asking about where he'd been, that moment he saw him leaving the hardware store. He didn't hear it from the news. Or from any letter. There was no note, nothing to explain, nothing that foretold what was to come. There was no warning. Nothing except... [Could we talk?] That was the last thing he saw: a text from him, and a missed call. No, it wasn't just a missed call. Why didn't he follow up? Missed call. Mason. 20:18 08/06/XXXX Missed call. Mason. 18:35 09/06/XXXX Missed call. Mason. 07:00 10/06/XXXX Missed call. Mason. 20:00 11/06/XXXX Missed call. Mason. 21:00 11/06/XXXX Missed call. Mason. 22:00 11/06/XXXX Missed call. Mason. 23:00 11/06/XXXX He didn't send a text back. Nothing except that one message after the second call. [I'm busy.] What was the young man doing during those last missed calls? He remembered a party. He remembered dragging his girlfriend somewhere quiet. He remembered killing the call and putting it on silent so they could get down to business. He remembered barely anything about it. [I'm busy.] Busy was right. Busy in the worst ways. The service itself was sparse, with only a few friends and family bothering to visit. There was no grand announcement at school, only whispers, as if it was gossip to revel in. With startling clarity, he remembered every miserable comment made with that friendly smile of his, joking. Joking. He thought he was joking. All it took was a moment. The tear that fell on the frayed paper blurred the ink it landed on. He gently set it aside and stuffed the photos back in their envelope, afraid of damaging what was left. They only found the body when a group of hikers stumbled upon the site, the reports said. The belongings were scattered by the wind, but recovered as best as they could. The personal affects in the bag were kept by the family, but it looked like they dug out what would have been a sort of last will and testament. A message without words. Each kodak moment was captured with such love and adoration. You could feel it bleeding through the pictures, how a set of eyes always were trained on one man. What felt even more jarring was the lack of presence from the man behind the lens. Words unsaid. Always a third party. Watching the world alone. That wasn't fair. They were friends. That friend listened. Always, he listened. Always, he watched. Almost every game, almost every date, almost every trip out of town, he was there. Nothing to remember him by, but pictures he took of someone else. No one ever offered to take his picture. No one ever offered to bring him into pictures. No one ever offered to invite him, not without reason. There wasn't even a picture on the coffin. The realization hit him. The feral scream he let out as he clutched the sheets and curled in on himself. He tossed, kicked, and screamed as trophies and plaques hit the floor, punches dented the wooden walls, kicks cracked the mirror, paper flew and tore over his desk. Nothing numbed that empty void throbbing inside him. It took the smashing of the chair against the floor and splinters flying for him to notice again the quiet envelope sitting on the floor, just by the bed. This wasn't his first tantrum, but it was the first he'd had to go through such impossible pain all alone. He never could have pictured this happening. He'd always thought of his friend as calm, insightful, independent. Firm and able to stand on his own two feet in solitude. In reality, he failed to notice how gentle and fragile this man was. He'd failed to notice this man at all. The confession was quiet, sudden. He didn't think much of it. But now, it was all that was left. If there was one bright lining behind this, it was that it seemed, until the end, there were only good memories his friend kept of him. Why bring the object you hate to your most vulnerable moment? No, there was no hate. There were just pictures. Photos. There was no need for words.
  7. I'm gonna be featured as a speaker and performer at a gay anime convention in the city.

    Dear lord OH MY GAHHHHHHHHHHD

    1. sandrewn

      sandrewn

      If others(your peers) want to hear your views and opinions. Watch you perform, you must be doing something right. It's not just your own ego(heh, heh) talking, you are good. Be confident in yourself and knock 'em dead. Give it your best shot, but enjoy yourself while doing so.

       

      Congratulations

      sandrewn:thumbup:

    2. Valkyrie

      Valkyrie

      That's great!  Congratulations :D 

  8. Word Association

    Fashion. What? Fashion's a habit.
  9. I talk to my editor more than I do anyone else on this site. It's not bad; it's just a huge contrast to how I do Facebook haha

  10. I'm so eclectic with my story tastes. I want a romance with a bit of murder mystery and fantasy and psychological horror and thriller.

    1. Show previous comments  1 more
    2. Valkyrie

      Valkyrie

      Hahaha my thought exactly, Puppi :gikkle: 

    3. thecalimack

      thecalimack

      @Puppilull, oh my god, this is almost perfect. THANK YOU

    4. thecalimack

      thecalimack

      @Valkyrie, you weren't supposed to call me out on that. I'm supposed to be a mature, responsible adult.

  11. Oh my god, I'm back.

  12. I've been working on the same story for what might account as more than a year. There's just so much going on in my life that I barely have the energy to write.
    And now I'm thinking if I should drop the story altogether, despite what it means to me.
    It just feels silly having an age-long process with no guarantee where it's headed.

    1. Valkyrie

      Valkyrie

      Are you talking about "What's Real to Me"?  Please don't give up on it.  You may need to put it on the back burner for a bit while you're so busy, but it's a really good story.  I'd hate to see you give up on it after all your hard work.  And for what it's worth... I started posting my latest story in 2015 and I'm currently writing chapter 23.  Life happens.  Come back to the story when you're able to.  

    2. robertlee

      robertlee

      I agree with @Valkyrie  my one story I put on the back burner from 2013 until this year and now it's being self published. Give the story a little breather and worry about your life and well being and it'll be there waiting for you when you have some fresh eyes to look at it with. 

  13. Can't A Guy Visit A Friend?

    Thank you so much! And the emoji reminds me of the story omg
  14. Can't A Guy Visit A Friend?

    This means so much to me, you have no idea, haha. Thank you!
  15. Chapter 5

    It was a few days before Sebastian found Ellis again. Or rather, stumbled upon him. It was a full moon that night, and the garden was bathed in the gentle blue glow of moonlight. He was about to call for him when he heard the soft eulogy sung to the wind. If he were any farther, he would have missed it, but there in the midst of the hedges and the gardens, he heard a voice kept precariously low, singing without words a song racked with something that strung a chord with the very soul. It was here Sebastian was reminded of the reports from Swordsworth. In the stillness of the night, he watched and listened, mesmerized how a man could have such a lovely voice and could sing with such sorrow without a single intelligible word. Sebastian left when he felt the song near its end. He crossed the courtyard and was heading down the hall when he noticed Ser Malcolm Hawthorne leave the library. "Ah, Ser Hawthorne, you're not usually around these parts this late." Malcolm returned the greeting with a smile. The man was exceptionally handsome despite his age and wear, a fact Sebastian thanked as well as cursed every now and then. "Seneschal, a pleasure to see you here. I was just deciding which books to borrow to help me pass the time." Sebastian glanced at the titles of the hardbound tomes and noted some of the titles, knowing them for some of the more modest studies to the smaller clans on the borders of the kingdom. "Old records. There are some things I want to refresh." "Any reason why border relations?" "I'm planning to visit some folk over on the borders, see how things are to what we know." "You could easily send knights there yourself, can't you?" "True, but there's a personal matter I'd wish to deal with." "Care to talk about what that is?" Malcolm sighed as he considered this. The man was reluctant, which made Sebastian curious if not suspicious. "I suppose there is no point keeping this a secret from you, though I'd rather I settle this myself. I worry about an extension of the family. She's been difficult to the rest of the clan. Practically renounced us from what I've heard. I'm trying to see the customs and what applies." "Certainly, the customs must not differ so much from here." "No, but there are festivities nearing, and being on the border, the views are rather different. I'd rather be prepared." "Well, there's no telling the dissonance from then and now, either. I think you'll be as out of depth there with what those books offer as without." And Sebastian knew he had a point. he knew how far those books dated back. Maybe the old man did not realize that simple fact. "If customs are really as strange as they are there, then I can have a small group of soldiers and scholars accompany you, discreetly even as to alleviate suspicion." "I hardly think it necessary, Seneschal." "We might as well see how things are in the town. Gain insight. Think of it as tagging along for an errand." Malcolm pondered over this. "I'll concede to that, then." "Good." "Ah, where were you coming from, by the way?" "Me? From the gardens, actually." "Was... there is this servant that strikes me as odd. He was there earlier." "Ah, you mean William?" "Is that his name?" "Yes." "So, he's the boy?" Sebastian gave him a stern look, enough of an answer in itself. "I'll take that as a yes." "So you passed by him?" "Since yesterday, actually. Some of the servants were making some ruckus about a ghost singing along the gardens. None of them dared to look, apparently." "They'd rather listen to mere hearsay than investigate," Sebastian muttered. "Well, that can't be helped at times. Wish they'd consider how easy it was to check, anyways." "Though I'm happy that they haven't bothered the lad," Malcolm argued. "If the boy knew he was being watched, he would no doubt flee. Shame as that would be." "Like a songbird, then? Free and uncaged?" "Precisely," Malcolm nodded. "Let the boy be. Even if we did not know his grief, his song sings as much to us." "Do you know what he's singing, though?" "I'm afraid I do not." "He must be singing in tongues, then." Sebastian glanced briefly over the books again. "When do you plan to leave?" "After maybe a week or two, once I've had things settled here. I'll leave someone to my tasks and will be gone for at most three weeks." "I bet you planned on telling me and Brandt three days before your departure again," Sebastian chided. "I'll let the King know and tell me if you need help finding a replacement instructor for the squires. We'll assign someone to the task instead. And we'll expect updates." "Of course, Seneschal." Malcolm took his leave, smiling wider as Sebastian called after him, reminding him about his name. Ellis was immersed in his work, arranging silverware and folding napkins on the table, even as he listened to the gossip amongst his fellow servants. He listened more intently when they mentioned the King. Last night, he had the chance to unwind with some singing, and he felt more relaxed for the day, as early his start was. "I heard he's been keeping a young servant to his bedroom as of late." "Do you think it's an affair?" "What kind of affair is it when there's no one to cheat on?!" "That's not true; it's still all very hush-hush." Ellis rolled his eyes and let them bicker further. "Well, I would think it's all rather romantic. Who could it be, you think?" "Whoever she is must be a lucky whore. You've seen the man with his finery on. Imagine what's it like in just his breeches." The two squealed and giggled as the image painted itself into their minds. Ellis was more intimate with the image than he'd like to admit. "Oh, the things I would let that man do to me." "Or what you'd do to him! I know you for being a nasty little wench. DOn't think I didn't find that book of yours, you dirty little harlot!" "I'm not the one who visits the horses every night!" "Ugh, you take that back!" "Ladies," Ellis interrupted, no doubt shocking them about the fact he was still there. "I appreciate your sentiments but we need to get this work done before the visitors arrive. It wouldn't do for us to be tardy." Just then, the doors to the dining room were whisked open, and the King strode in, his presence choking out nervous greetings from his servants. Ellis was no exception there. However, what was exceptional was how the King waltzed his way, grinning. "William, I see you're stuck with dinner duty." Ellis no doubt felt the stares of his associates. "Well, yes, Sire. The guests will be here soon and there is much to arrange." "Well, I need you for something. So, you'll be coming with me." "Pardon?" Brandt grinned, boyish and mischievous, as he grabbed Ellis' hand and dragged him away. Ellis looked back to see his fellow servants gawking at them. Well, there goes the gossip. It'd be the talk of the castle tonight. "What task must I tend to, Your Grace?" "I need you to join me in deciding my finery for tonight." "Surely, there are people more suited for that," Ellis argued. "No, but I want to please you." "If you want to please me, you'd be stark naked." The words left his mouth before he could block them. They stopped as Ellis slapped a hand over his mouth. "I'm sorry, I--" But Brandt's eyes were dark, glazed over, watching him with a hunger that seeped into his skin. He leaned close, whispering to his ear, "I could entertain you, my love. Slowly, if you'd prefer." He rubbed circles over his hands, sliding them to his waist. "Or maybe you would prefer to unravel me, like a present? I would gladly give myself to you." "Oh Lord!" Ellis and Brandt jumped away from each other at the sound of the voice. A servant girl was watching them, scandalized, before she fled. They stared after her, before a giggle surfaced from Ellis. Brandt wasn't far behind, smiling ruefully as he considered how intimate the display was. And no doubt he'd be hearing talk later. Ellis devolved into a fit of laughter, leaning against him as he thought of how absurd the moment was, quick and energized but so easily fragile, gone in mere seconds. Brandt held him for a while, enjoying the moment. When Ellis pulled away, he was a little red, but his smile was between mirth and exasperation. "Will you help me choose my clothes, then?" Ellis mulled it over. "No." "Please?" "Sebastian will have my head." "It's a royal decree." "Now you're just being childish." "How can I sway you, then?" "Get a professional to be with us, then. I doubt my tastes appeal to the high nobles here." Brandt rolled his eyes. He wanted their moment to be... private. "We're wasting time, here." "Then you'll have to go on without me," Ellis offered, and he was sauntering away when Brandt took his hand again. "Fine. We'll get someone." "Brother, you are an imbecile of the highest order," the Crown Princess muttered, sifting through the wardrobe while her personal assistant gawked. "You do not need a chaperone to fuck your servants. I swear to the Almighty Father and our father that you are the most incompetent man I--" "Actually, I implored him," Ellis offered. In many ways, the Crown Princess Linda Evangelista Aurelian was much like here brother. They had the same shade of hair, and the same sort of skin, but she was more pampered but easily the louder of the two. Ellis hadn't heard much about her except that her decorum depended on who she favored. "You implored him? You must have a lot of sway." "I'm just a fleeting fancy," Ellis argued. He watched as her face became a glare directed at her brother. "Let us be honest here; I doubt I can so easily win a King's affections." "Too late," she muttered, clear enough for everyone's benefit. She picked out a tight-looking finery and a very extravagant cape. "You're lucky father kept himself fit, brother. A lot of these fit you just fine." "Thank you, Sister." "Now strip." Her personal assistant and Ellis sputtered. They sputtered louder when the said King did strip, and the personal assistant looked away. Ellis watched on, seeing all those sinews and musculature revealed in one swoop of the shirt. His mouth was dry, even as he watched such a tight, bulbous derrière wiggled in front of his face. This was bloody intentional. When the King whipped his trousers down, revealing tight breeches, Ellis hurled a pillow, spot on the arse. Brandt looked over his shoulder and waggled his eyebrows while Ellis flipped him off. Linda had been watching them and was carefully stoic about it all. "Are you two done flirting?" Ellis straightened, even as Brandt bellowed a laugh and pulled on the finery. he looked... good. Very good. The clothes hugged him just right and there was that charming grin he'd flash visitors. A different sort of smile was aimed Ellis' way, however. Quiet, soft, genuine. "We're done for now, Sister." "Good." She went over and poked Ellis on the head. "You're not so smart denying him. He won't stop until he's eaten you alive." Before Ellis could ask, she left the room, her assistant in tow. Her presence had left them wrecked, as if a storm blown over their heads. Ellis turned to his King. "What next, Brandt?" "Ah, you used my name at last!" "Shall I note this as a fetish?" "Your voice is my fetish." Ellis grimaced at that. "That was terrible, even for you."
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