#missed monthlies seem to be the primary tell in like...my secret life

[hergan416]

Fuck ok um

I need to ask an odd and possibly spoilery question.

What is the common convention for how non-abo mpreg works?

Please be as technical/clinical in your answer as possible.

[thecleverdame]

Wild Times In Charming Acres - Chapter One

Inspired by episode  14x15

JustinSmith!Sam x Reader, mentions of past Sam x Reader

Summary: Transported to another reality you find yourself married to a man named Justin Smith who may look like Sam, but couldn’t be further from a Winchester. As time goes by you decide to indulge in this Pleasantville world and wholesome husband.

Warnings: Fluff, smut and humor

Beta:  ilikaicalie

Words: 2k

Part Two is currently available on Patreon for a monthly pledge of $2.50. This includes early access to all my stories and Patreon exclusive content.  >> CLICK HERE <<

-

You’ve been here a little over a month - you think. It’s hard to distinguish how long you've physically been in this place and how long you’ve known who you really are. You remember Dean casting a spell while you and Sam stood in the middle of the intricately drawn sigil on the floor.

And when you came to, you were here, in Charming Acres.

You woke up next to a man who looked like Sam but was decidedly not. Not in the way he talked or looked or acted. He rolled over in bed that first morning, shooting you a pouty little look of distress. “Who’s Sam? You must’ve had one of your dreams again.”

This Sam, or rather Justin as he insists on being called, is the polar opposite of the guy you’ve been dating for almost two years. You can’t do this on your own, you need Sam to get out of here. So for the last four weeks, you’ve been doing your best to assimilate, all the while working to jog Sam’s memories back to life.

MONDAY

“I’m home bunny rabbit!” His voice calls up the stairs accompanied by the front door slamming shut.

You sigh, earmarking the journal in hand and hollering back. “Oh good, I’m coming down!”

You had found a series of journals hidden the back of the closet inside a hat box, although you’re not sure why the former you, Beatrix Smith, hid them. All they are is a compilation of recipes, dull-as-dirt gossip and detailed gardening arrangements.

Bounding down the stairs you’re met with the sight of him. It still gets you every time. There he is in a Mister Rogers sweater and tie, glasses perched on his nose, hanging his overcoat in the closet. You’re married to Ward freaking Cleaver.

“How’s my girl?” He smiles, leaning down to place a kiss on your cheek.

“I’m just great.” You force an unnaturally wide smile.

“I could smell dinner from the driveway.” He tilts his head, admiring you as if you’re his prize chihuahua. “It smells delicious.”

“Just meatloaf and mashed potatoes.” You never really took the time to cook before, but you’ve been forced to learn on your feet. In Charming Acres cooking and cleaning seem to be your primary functions.  “Nothing special.”

“Everything you make is wonderful,” he quips. “Let's have a drink before we eat, shall we?”

--

At supper, he drones on and on about some meeting at work that you could less about. You sit, sipping white wine, and try to feign interest.

“You know I don’t like to think ill of people, but I swear to you sweetheart, I’m not sure the man has honorable intentions. He inserts himself into every conversation, by golly it’s all I can do to hold my tongue.”

“That sounds...just awful.”

“Thank you!” He nods enthusiastically. “Bob thinks I’m overreacting, but the man is almost intolerable.”

“Bob is an idiot,” you comment without thinking and Sam sits up straight. Too harsh. “Sorry, I just meant, you’re so good with people honey, and Bob doesn’t strike me as a person who reads people well. That’s all.”

“Well,” he relaxes a bit. “You’re probably right.”

You’re not sure how much more you can take of this bland existence. It’s bordering on mind-numbing, the same mindless details day in and day out. You decided this morning you’re just going to go for it. There’s been hardly any physical contact since you got here. Sure, he occasionally put his hand over your shoulder but the most intimate he gets is the pecks on your lips every night before he rolls over to go to sleep.

“What’s that on the counter? Do I spy a letter from the Women’s Lit Society?” He purses his lips, looking like he’s discovered a naughty little secret.

The Charming Acres version of you writes poetry about sunflowers, spring rain and hummingbirds taking flight.

“Nothing gets by you,” you chide. “They’re publishing my poem, Morning Dew, in the national newsletter next month.”

Sam leans in, both forearms on the table, “I am just so darn proud of you.”

“It's really not that big of a deal.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. You know, some guys have wives who just watch TV and gossip all day long, but you, you’re pursuing your talents. I say bravo and well done.”

He’s smiling to himself as he goes back to cutting his meatloaf into neat bite size pieces.

“S-Justin,” you almost slip. You’re getting better at it but continuity is still a weak point.

“What is it?” He looks up, setting down his fork to give you his full attention. Justin is nothing if not attentive.

“Do you find me….attractive.”

He scoffs like you’re asking the most ridiculous question he’s ever heard.

“Of course, you’re my wife. The most beautiful woman in Arkansas,” he affirms and you can’t help but smile.

“I was thinking...” you have to be careful. You don’t want to spook him. “You’ve been working so hard and on Saturdays you have the bowling league and I have my book club. It feels we haven’t had the chance to spend much quality time together. I’ve been a little...lonely.”

“I had no idea.” He’s gravely serious, his head nodding in thought. “Well, I’ll tell you what bunny rabbit, this weekend I’ll say heck to the league and we’ll go to the opening of the new botanical gardens. That sounds nice, doesn’t it?”

He’s not even in your orbit.

“That does sound nice, but to be honest I was thinking I’d like us to spend more time together in terms of...romance.”

“Romance?” He sits back in his chair, a grimace overtaking his mouth. “Right…”

“I just - I miss you like crazy and I thought it would be good for us to...to rekindle our marriage.”

“To be honest I feel like a complete numbskull. You’re right, you always are. When’s the last time I brought you flowers? Or we went dancing at Joey's? We used to go out every Friday night. I haven’t been showing you just what a special little lady you are.”

“That’s not exactly what I-”

“I’ll start right now.” He thrusts a finger into the air. You watch as he gets up with determination, opening the cupboard under the sink and rooting around until he retrieves two tapered candles. Then he’s sorting through the junk drawer for matches. He sets both candles in the middle of the table, blowing the dust off the wicks before striking a match and lighting both.

Then he takes his seat, looking rather proud of himself and reaching across the table to squeeze your hand.

--

He’s having a nightcap, watching the news while you’re frantically flipping through the pages of Beatrix’s most recent journal. The other version of you tracked everything from menstrual cramps to Justin’s favorite television commercials, there must be something about your sex life.

Halfway through the pages, you spot a red dot on the upper righthand corner of a page. You flip back scanning the notes and sure enough at the bottom, in tiny cursive letters is the sentence: made sweet love

Rolling your eyes you keep going, page after page until you find another telltale red dot and the words: most romantic evening, made love and talked for hours

You flip back looking between dates. Six months.

You double check, scanning through the pages again, but there’s nothing other than sewing tips and cocktail recipes.

Six months between sweet love making, no wonder he’s wound so tight, he’s must have blue balls big enough to be seen from space.

“What are you reading?” He asks from the doorway, scaring the living daylights out of you.

“Just...some old gardening techniques.” You rebox the journal and shove it to the back of the closet.

“I’m beat,” he yawns, taking his pajamas out of the dresser drawer.

He disappears into the bathroom for his nighttime routine and you rummage through the closet in search of the one and only piece of lingerie in your wardrobe. It’s a silk nightgown that leaves plenty to the imagination. It comes almost up to your collarbone and halfway to your knees. But it’s sleeveless, thin little straps over your shoulders that show more skin than any other article of clothing you own.

“Honey,” you call to him, stripping down and pulling it over your head.

“Yes?” His voice is garbled, brushing his teeth.

“I was thinking about the conversation we had earlier and I wanted to talk to you about something else.” Pulling the thick, floor-length robe off the closet door you put it on as he wanders out of the bathroom in striped pajamas.

“Is something wrong?” He looks at you, concerned.

“No, well, nothing’s wrong per say, just...not enough.”

“I don’t follow.”

“When I was talking about wanted more romance in our relationship, I was thinking more along the lines of...intimacy.”

“Intimacy?” He stares blankly.

God, he is clueless. You’re going to be forced to spell this out.

“Tonight, I was hoping that you would...make love to me.”

Several waves of realization fall over his face. Eyebrows shooting up, his mouth falls open for a moment before he recovers. “But...my birthday isn’t until next month.”

“Why should we wait for a special occasion?” You open your robe letting it fall to the ground, revealing the modest nightgown and he reacts as if you’ve flashed him your pussy.

“Oh - oh my goodness,” he gasps softly, cheeks flushing red.

“You don’t like it?” You step closer, swinging your hips.

“I do!” He gushes, his eyes looking you over from head to toe. “I just - I wasn’t prepared.”

“What do you say?” You press yourself against him. His breath hitches as you slide two hands over his chest and around the back of his neck. “I want you.”

“What has gotten into you?” A nervous, excited grin tugs at the corners of his mouth.

“I told you, I miss you.”

“Well…” He’s clearly embarrassed but also aroused.

After methodically turning off all lights, pulling the curtains, setting the alarm and slipping over the covers, your husband kisses you with a series of closed mouth kisses. He gently pulls your nightgown up past your hips and rolls between your legs. He almost grabs your breast through the nightie but thinks better of it, instead shoving his pants down and grasping his cock.

You can’t see much, between the darkness of the room and multiple layers of blankets covering you both, but you can feel him. Sam’s cock is huge, but Justin doesn’t have a clue how to use it. He just shoves himself inside with a mighty heave, moaning and rocking deeper and deeper until you open up for him.

Normal Sam, your Sam, would have his thumb on your clit, sucking on your nipples while he's fucking you into oblivion.

But in contrast, this version of him is moving on top of your body with both hands braced beside your head. His face tucked into the crook of your neck, moaning breathlessly as he pants about how much he loves you and how beautiful you are.

You just lay there, staring at the shadow of the ceiling fan as he humps you for the better part of twenty minutes before giving a few finishing strokes and cumming.

“That was amazing.” He kisses your cheek, pulling out and rolling onto his back. “Come here, let me hold you bunny rabbit.”

It’s the first time, in a long time, that you’re utterly speechless. He pulls you into his arms, stroking your hair as if you’ve just gone wild on each other and require some kind of aftercare.

“Yeah,” you nod, laying against his chest. “That was...something else.”

“My little minx.” He teases, patting your back.

While it’s not exactly the vigorous lovemaking the vague journal entries lead you to believe, it does spark a thought. He’s got no clue what he’s doing with that beautiful cock and powerful body. But as luck would have it, you are just the woman to teach him.

-

-

Part Two is currently available on Patreon for a monthly pledge of $2.50. This includes early access to all my stories and Patreon exclusive content.  >> CLICK HERE <<

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[betsynagler]

The Next Thing We Don’t Get To Talk About

Adolescence was kind of a mystery when I was a tween. Actually, we didn't call tweens “tweens” in the late 70s/early 80s, sort of the Iron Age of coming up with clever, merged names for stuff, and there were lots of other things of whose names we did not speak. My mother was a full-fledged feminist at that point, but a large part of her era’s brand of feminism was about minimizing the differences between men and women. Maybe this is why I didn't know anything about getting my period — heck, I don't think I even knew it was going to happen — until I read Are You There God? It's Me Margaret. In fact, there's a fair amount I wouldn't know about the world if it weren't for Judy Blume. Not that I enjoyed her books, which also included vivid details about wet dreams (Then Again, Maybe I Won't) and teenaged sex (Forever, a book of which I think I may only have read the “good” pages — the ones my friends dog-eared so they could share them, or maybe read them over again alone in their rooms, which was something that never occurred to me to do since masturbation was another thing nobody ever told me about). I didn't like them, partly because even at that age I could tell that “literary” was not a primary value considered by the dog-ear-and-share teen set, but mainly because those books scared the shit out of me. I was an immature kid, a year younger than most of the girls in my grade, and I’d been very happy in the dark, thank you. I didn't want to know about any of this stuff, which seemed entirely gross and overwhelming. Trying to figure out why girls wore skirts when they could wear infinitely more comfortable shorts or overalls was way too complicated for me, I certainly couldn't imagine celebrating when I started bleeding out of my vagina. In fact, I don't know anyone who did, in spite of what Judy wrote. And while my mom was helpful about it when I finally had it (late. I was 14 or 15, which seemed eons after everyone else), she didn't use tampons, so I still had to figure all of that out by myself. But to me, being a teenager was basically about feeling stupid nearly all the time, so to have this one additional thing I was utterly clueless about just seemed normal.

Little did I know how many more holes there were in my knowledge (a lot of it, coincidentally, regarding orifices). I didn't start masturbating until my 20s, since I basically didn't even know I had a clitoris until I was introduced to it by my first real boyfriend at age 21, so I guess that's when I started to understand and pay attention to my sex drive, but I still didn't notice any connection between it and my cycle. Once I got on the pill, I was very regular, and didn't have period symptoms like moodiness or bloating or cramps, so, aside from taking birth control and my uneventful annual gynecological checkup, I never had a need to think about what was going on in my uterus at all besides the usual monthly messiness. Until, that is, my 30s. That's when the hormones hit the fan. It didn't help, no doubt, that my mid-30s was when my midlife crisis started — and yes, I do mean this one, the one that's still going on. I know that probably sounds precocious, and I certainly don't have plans to die at age 68, but that's when I started thinking about my biological clock — or, once again not at all precociously, even realized I had one. So that's when I really had to start considering what the heck I was doing with my life: what my current relationship was all about, where my career was going or not going, and how I was going to make the rest of my life happen — the one that I'd always imagined would start when I sold my first screenplay or made my first feature and then continue successfully from there to all the other things I wanted like kids, money, property ownership. Because it clearly was not happening so far.

As you might imagine, the first step in all that was therapy, and it was my therapist who introduced me to the term “perimenopause.” As in, “Maybe part of the reason you’re moody and depressed is that you're going through perimenopause.” Which is not something that a woman who is hoping to have several more years of fertility wants to hear, even if she doesn't know what it is, exactly, because it has the word “menopause” in it, and that is definitely bad. So my gynecologist gave me tests for my hormones and everything looked normal, but still, I could feel that it wasn’t — or at least, not the normal that I’d been used to. If I wasn't having perimenopause, I was definitely having something, because all of this stuff was happening to me. For one thing, my sex drive had definitely gotten stronger. I wanted sex every day, if not more than once a day, even if my boyfriend didn't. Which was weird. I hadn't been taught that that degree of desire would ever be, well, me. Yes, I'd missed regular sex during the nine years I hadn't had a boyfriend, and that was why I’d learned to masturbate and occasionally made bad choices about men. Still, my need to get laid had never been so strong that I’d made really bad choices, like I knew it drove a lot of other people to do. Now, suddenly, I felt like I could relate a little more to those who felt driven by their genitalia. I had chalked it up to the fact that I was having good, regular sex, after being starved of it for so long, but I was starting to realize that there was more to it than just the horniness. I was also a lot moodier — depressed, anxious, irritable — and it was indeed a lot worse around my period.

I resisted the idea that this was happening for a long time, because it’s the worst type of stereotype that women are ruled by their cycles and made irrational, “hysterical” by our hyster-areas, rather than the way that society beats us down and makes us hate ourselves. But it was impossible not to notice that it wasn’t just these outside forces having an impact on me, something was going on inside me too. And it did seem like, finally, some of my friends were talking about it — like we were finally realizing, in our 30s, it was time to pay attention to what was actually going on with us, rather than what everyone told was supposed to be going on. And of course there was the Internet, although, as usual, whether that was helping or hurting was something of a toss up. You sure could find a lot about how women were at their sexual peak in their 30s, because that was hot, but scientifically established research about all of this other female hormonal business? Not really. So this became my major introduction to the fact that not just my body, but the mind and emotions attached to it, that I always thought of as wholly independent and under my control, were going to change as I got older whether I liked it or not. I could pretend it wasn't happening, or I could accept it and find ways to cope.

Little did I know that there was to be even more stuff for me to find out, a lot of it had to do with having babies, or not having babies. The pain women go through during childbirth, the likelihood of maternal mortality, how many things can go wrong — these were all things I only discovered when friends started having children or trying to get pregnant. I found out only long after it happened that two of my friends had come pretty close to dying during childbirth — and then they each went on to have more kids! This floored me. Then I had four miscarriages/non-viable pregnancies myself and wrote about it, and all my friends were suddenly telling me about their experiences with that. I mean, it was as if these were things we were all just supposed to go through and then shut up about, because nobody wanted to hear the gory details. Post-#metoo, it strikes me as being very similar to sexual harassment and assault. Women have always just been expected to suffer through all sorts of things and never complain, never talk. Because a large part of our value was in how well we lived up to all of the roles of womanhood — ingenue, sex kitten, helpmate, housewife, caretaker, subordinate but necessary breadwinner — without letting our personhood get in the way.

And now, finally, menopause. Which is like all of these things but also worse, because it also has to do with getting old, and that is something, as women, we can never talk about. Again, it's supposed to be each woman’s dirty little secret, hidden by hair dye, Botox, and plastic surgery. Aging is a process that happens to literally every human being, but yet again, women are made to feel like there's something wrong with us when we can’t stop time. And then, to add insult to injury, we stop being fertile, which means we lose the final thing we had going for us if we weren't hot or good cooks: we could at least make babies. Then, we get all of the fun symptoms that go along with that: hot flashes, lowered libido, dry vaginas, mood swings, irregular periods…You thought you hated your period before, but at least with most of us it was predictable, now it's not even that. Some women bleed a lot more, some bleed more often, like every three weeks or so instead of four, but not exactly, so you always have to be prepared, carrying your not-so-little bag of tampons and mini-pads around basically 24-7. And the moodiness becomes practically a month-round thing too (and it's not just grumpiness at never knowing when you're going to start bleeding — although can you imagine men putting up with that? Offices filled with middle-aged, menopausal men — upper management at any corporation, perhaps the entire insurance industry — would basically cease to function).

All of this is normal for women, but you'd never know it from popular culture. Except for the occasional joke about hot flashes and the movie Something's Got To Give, menopause doesn't exist there. So how are we supposed to know that what we're going through is what everyone else is going through? Not just to get advice or support, but even to get a sense whether or not something is wrong. I mean, how soon you're supposed to call your doctor if you have a Viagra mishap? We all pretty much know that now because it's been the punchline in so many rom coms and sitcoms and other kinds of coms. Menopause? Still too icky to make jokes about, apparently. If men don't experience it, I guess it's not “universal” enough to be funny.

I think some of this has changed. My friends who have girls certainly talk to them about a lot more than we talked about with our parents. But I still think the message of our culture is that our experiences of womanhood, the good and the bad, the sad and the fucking hilarious because it's so terrible, are not worth sharing — unless they‘re a turn-on, which, I’m sorry, most things in life just aren’t. I have to wonder, when are we going to stop internalizing the message that what happens to us just doesn't matter as much as what happens to them?

[bondsmagii]

here’s the rest of those questions because I can’t resist a challenge

1: Spotify, SoundCloud, or Pandora?

I don’t actually use any of them... used to use Spotify until it betrayed me by capping me at 10hrs of music a month. like bitch I listen to 10hrs in a day lmao. at the time I couldn’t even afford the small monthly charge so I stopped using it and now my petty ass won’t give them a penny.

2: is your room messy or clean?

clean but cluttered. there’s nothing gross like trash or used plates, but there’s a lot of random stacks of paper, books, notes, etc. it’s alright at the moment seems there’s been a recent tidy, but usually it’s very cluttered.

3: what color are your eyes?

green! I also have heterochromia, so there’s a thin ring of brown around both irises, and a small slice of brown in one eye.

5: what is your relationship status? 

dating @karlacton​ and have been since 2015!

7: what color hair do you have?

it’s black, which is pretty cool. emo me loved it.

8: what kind of car do you drive? color?

I drive a renault and it’s silver!

9: where do you shop?

like.. for what? groceries? clothes? books? because aside from “tesco” I couldn’t tell you, it’s usually all online. if I’m splashing out on books I’ll go to Waterstone’s.

11: favorite social media account

I hate them all. release me.

12: what size bed do you have?

a queen, I think? or a double? I don’t even know if there’s a difference.

13: any siblings?

one older brother, deceased.

15: favorite snapchat filter?

I don’t have snapchat.

16: favourite makeup brand(s)

I don’t know shit about makeup.

17: how many times a week do you shower?

it sounds bad because it averages out to three or four times a week, but when you remember that my days are frequently 36-48hrs long, it averages out to about every other day.

18: favorite tv show?

I don’t own a TV or keep up with much shows, but I do binge-watch Brooklyn Nine-Nine.

19: shoe size?

uk size 7.

21: sandals or sneakers?

sneakers. fuck sandals.

22: do you go to the gym?

lmao

23: describe your dream date

good food, scary movies, urbexing, driving around to good music, more good food. an equal balance of opportunity to talk and opportunity to see if the silence is comfortable.

24: how much money do you have in your wallet at the moment?

I don’t carry cash. or a wallet, for that matter.

25: what color socks are you wearing?

black.

27: do you have a job? what do you do?

I do, but I can’t go into specific details. it’s to do with computers and security.

28: how many friends do you have?

I got no fucking clue my dude. depending on the definition of friend, anywhere between 2 to 15 or so.

29: what’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?

you’d probably have to ask somebody else if I’m honest, I don’t have a good grasp of what’s actually bad or not lol. there’s stuff I might consider bad for a while, but then I get over it and stop seeing it as such a big deal. there’s some stuff that might count from a legal standpoint, in terms of like I don’t know, how seriously it would be taken, but I’m not sure of the statute of limitations on it so fuck if I’m mentioning it.

32: 3 favorite girl names?

saoirse, vesper, oksana

35: who is your celebrity crush?

bitch colin firth

37: do you read a lot? what’s your favorite book?

I read a hell of a lot, usually between 2-4 books at the same time. as for favourites I have way too many, so if you wan recs keep an eye on my reading list and see what I’m screaming about.

38: money or brains?

brains. if you play your cards right, brains can get money.

39: do you have a nickname? what is it?

people who know me in other places call me Rat, either because I like the animal or because of the hacker from The Core; people who know me from the SCP Foundation call me Konny or Kon, after the character.

41: top 10 favorite songs

right now: 

Space Oddity by David Bowie

Never Quite Free by The Mountain Goats

We Didn’t Start the Fire by Billy Joel

The Longest Time by Billy Joel

Brothers on a Hotel Bed by Death Cab For Cutie

Blame by Bastille

Tomorrow Will Be Kinder by The Secret Sisters

Nothing to Remember by Neko Case

All Alright by fun.

The Spine Song by Cake Bake Betty

this changes like, daily, by the way.

42: do you take any medications daily?

nope.

43: what is your skin type? (oily, dry, etc)

normal? bit dry in some places at the moment though, but it always is at this time of the year -- the cold air coming down from the mountains will blast freeze anyone’s skin.

44: what is your biggest fear? 

the current rise in fascism erupting into another world war or holocaust.

45: how many kids do you want?

ideally I would have wanted two or three, but life circumstances have made it so it’s best I don’t have children, unfortunately.

47: what type of house do you live in? (big, small, etc) 

the place in scotland is a three-bedroom flat which is quite large. the place in london is a two-bedroom flat which is slightly smaller but still big for that area of london.

48: who is your role model?

writing-wise, john le carré and stephen king. life-wise, kim philby for the scamming and productivity, and lord byron for the scandal.

49: what was the last compliment you received?

I can’t even remember. probably something to do with my writing, as I’ve been sharing that with some people recently.

51: how old were you when you found out santa wasn’t real?

santa is real my good bitch

52: what is your dream car? 

literally no idea.

53: opinion on smoking?

I smoke occasionally and don’t care if people choose to or not, however I support the smoking ban in public areas and I will be an asshole and cough loudly if you blow it directly in my face.

54: do you go to college? 

graduated.

55: what is your dream job?

anything fast-paced, high-risk, and that requires me to constantly keep learning and improving myself to keep up.

58: do you have freckles? 

some in the summer, across my nose and cheeks.

60: how many pictures do you have on your phone? 

a couple of hundred.

61: have you ever peed in the woods? 

absolutely. it’s a necessity when homeless/on road trips.

62: do you still watch cartoons? 

nope.

63: do you prefer chicken nuggets from Wendy’s or McDonalds?

never been to Wendy’s so McDonalds by default. love me some McNuggets.

65: what do you wear to bed? 

sweatpants, an old t-shirt, and a hoodie. it’s the mountains, I need to wrap up.

66: have you ever won a spelling bee?

nah, we don’t have them here but I did come top of my class during spelling tests all through primary school.

67: what are your hobbies?

reading, writing, photography, urban exploring, paranormal research, soviet history, researching espionage, meteorology, a whole load of things.

70: what was the last concert you saw? 

florence and the machine probably.

71: tea or coffee?

both depending on my mood, though I go through stages of drinking one more than the other. right now I drink more coffee than tea.

72: Starbucks or Dunkin Donuts?

never been to Dunkin Donuts, so Starbucks.

73: do you want to get married?

one day, hopefully.

74: what is your crush’s first and last initial?

CF, take a wild guess lmao

75: are you going to change your last name when you get married?

acton and I have discussed if we ever get married, finding a cool name we both like to change our last names to. so maybe.

76: what color looks best on you? 

green.

77: do you miss anyone right now? 

not really, to be honest. I don’t miss people often. I might have moments of oh, I wish they were still in my life, but it’s never a constant thing, thankfully. it sounds like it would be a drag.

78: do you sleep with your door open or closed?

closed right now, we need all the heat conservation we can get.

79: do you believe in ghosts?

hell yeah I do. had lots of experiences too!

81: last person you called

my boss?

82: favorite ice cream flavor? 

mint choc chip.

83: regular oreos or golden oreos? 

regular.

84: chocolate or rainbow sprinkles? 

both.

86: what is your phone background?

lmao it’s a picture of julian assange because I live to annoy him.

87: are you outgoing or shy?

I’m very outgoing. a lot of people think I’m shy but actually I just go through stages of being really anti-social.

89: do you like your neighbors? 

I have no major issues with them but they’re a weird bunch. the downstairs neighbour I’m pretty sure is a ghost, and the neighbours across the way are so strange. they do DIY in the dead of night and several of them just sit in their cars at 3am with the lights on, staring at nothing. odd.

90: do you wash your face? at night? in the morning?

when I shower, or if I have something on it. I don’t have a routine.

91: have you ever been high? 

yes.

92: have you ever been drunk? 

way too many times.

95: summer or winter? 

aesthetically? winter. in terms of not feeling suicidal all the time? summer.

96: day or night? 

night. I’m a night hoe.

99: what is your zodiac sign

aquarius, watch out. 

100: who was the last person you cried in front of? 

no one bitch... I don’t cry

[tran5rightsos]

You’ve Cut the Wrong Damn Wire - Chapter Eight

Tags and Warnings: Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-Con

Word Count: 1631

Leave Kudos?

Calum trudged down the rows of headstones, the flowers in his arms bobbing gently in the sunlight as he pondered the fact that they didn’t know where they were going. Flowers didn’t plan for things like this. They didn’t grow from tiny seeds thinking about getting cut from their stems, wrapped in fancy paper and taken to cemeteries to rot over someone’s grave. Shit just happened to them.

Although he hadn’t been here since he got kicked out, Calum knew the path to his nan’s final resting place well. He used to visit at least monthly, usually when he was stressed about keeping his severe lack of straightness a secret. Looking back, he wondered if she’d suspected that he didn’t like girls, if she’d always been offering quiet support before he even knew that he needed it. As he laid the flowers down, he wondered if things would be different if she were still alive, if his parents would still talk to him, even if it was only over text.

As he made to leave, Calum noticed two men standing near some newer graves several rows away. He recognised Luke immediately, but the other guy was unfamiliar. It was hard to tell from so far away, but Luke looked almost angry. His expression cleared when he looked up and noticed Calum.

Holding up a hand in greeting, Calum wondered if it would be weird to say hi at a cemetery. He wouldn’t blame Luke if he wasn’t in the mood, but he did want to catch up at some point. He and Michael had barely spoken to him since Christmas and whenever Calum tried to make plans they claimed they were busy.

Fortunately, Luke said something to the man and started walking to him.

“Who was that?” Calum asked when he reached him, watching the guy stare at the grave in front of him for a moment before leaving.

“My uncle, Phil.”

“Didn’t know you had an uncle.”

“Me and Ethan used to live with him before…” He shuffled his feet and looked away.

“Sorry.”

As Phil got into his car, Luke stared at him, expression uncharacteristically unreadable.

“You okay?” Calum asked. Maybe they’d had an argument or something.

“I think he wants to...reconcile or something,” Luke said.

“Are you gonna let him?”

“Dunno.”

Calum nodded and looked at Nan’s grave. “Fair enough.”

“Who’s this?” Luke asked.

“My nan. She died when I was in primary school.”

“Sorry.”

“All good. Were you here to see Ethan?”

“Phil wanted to talk, so we met up at his grave,” Luke said.

“Good a place as any, I guess.”

“Yeah.”

Maybe Luke had been trying to make some kind of point to Phil, tell him that it was too late to say sorry or something, though Calum could only guess at all the shit Phil would have to apologise for. Luke had been miserable when he’d been living with him.

“How’s Michael?”

“He’s good. He missed his nan a lot when we were gone, so he’s happy to be spending time with her.”

Calum nodded. “So, uh…” He hesitated.

Luke looked at him.

“Did something happen at Christmas? I feel like we don’t see you guys anymore.”

Luke gave Calum a long look. “Michael just wants to be with his nan for as long as possible before she passes away. She’s been sick. Nothing against you.”

“Right, yeah no, of course.” Calum huffed a breath. “So it’s not something with him and Ash?”

“What d’you mean?”

“I think…” Calum looked away. “Ashton might be...cheating.”

Luke’s jaw dropped in surprise. “Seriously?”

“He’s been...different, you know?”

“And you reckon him and Michael…”

Calum looked at Luke. “Shit, sorry. I didn’t mean to-” He fumbled for a way to save Luke’s feelings. “He might not be, I was probably just overanalysing shit, I don’t think Michael’s cheating on you.”

Luke looked surprised. “Me and Michael aren’t dating.”

“Oh.” Calum tried not to look too relieved.

“I love him to bits, but yeah, we’re not a thing. Neither are him and Ash. I would know if they were, he would’ve told me.”

“Oh.”

Well that was something, Calum supposed.

“Have you talked to him about it?”

Calum shook his head. “I guess I should, huh?”

Luke looked hesitant. “Won’t you just be hurt if he says he is?”

Calum stared. “What?”

Luke shrugged. “Maybe it’s better if you don’t know.”

That wasn’t the advice Calum was expecting. It was exactly what he already felt, but he knew that literally anyone would say he should try to communicate with Ashton and get his feelings out there. Anyone except Luke, apparently.

“You wanna get drinks with me?” Luke asked, “It’s getting late.”

“Uh, yeah, sure.”

Maybe it made sense that Luke would find the most non-confrontational option the most appealing. Calum would never ask, but from what he’d said at the cemetery, he suspected that Phil had been abusive. Luke was probably used to getting hurt for trying to talk things out. Maybe that was part of why he was so reluctant to open up about anything more personal than where he bought a nice shirt.

Even after a few more drinks than Calum had intended, Luke didn’t spill anything, choosing instead to gush about the time he and Michael went to a zoo and saw a lot of cute animals. Calum didn’t press him, he just smiled along and cooed at the photos Luke showed him. As much as he liked Luke, he didn’t really want to know too much about his personal life. A lot of it would likely be painful to hear.

Although it wasn’t very late when he got home, Ashton looked like he was about to freak out when Calum opened the door.

“Where the fuck you been?” he demanded, gripping Calum’s shoulders as his eyes raked over him.

“What the fuck, man, I was with Luke. Why are you throwing a hissy fit?”

“I thought something happened to you," Ashton said, surprising him with a tight hug, "Why were you with Luke?”

Calum pushed him away. “I saw him and his uncle at the cemetery and we got drinks.” He frowned. “Me and Luke. Not his uncle. Phil’s a prick.”

Ashton had deflated a little, but a hint of panic remained in his demeanour. “I’ve been texting you all-”

“I asked him if you were cheating on me.” Apparently he was finally drunk enough to have this conversation. He went to the couch and flopped down, checking his phone and realising he’d forgotten to turn it back on after leaving the cemetery.

Ashton followed him, but stayed standing. “What?”

“You and Michael were acting weird and I thought you might’ve been fucking behind my back and had a fight, but Luke says he’d know about it if you did, so I dunno what the fuck is going on with you but at least you aren’t dragging them into it, I guess.”

Ashton frowned and nudged Calum to sit up so he could sit next to him. “You think I’m cheating on you?” he asked softly.

“You don’t talk to me like you used to,” Calum mumbled, “And you keep staying out late and making shit up when I ask where you’ve been and taking weird trips and coming back acting normal again. And you’re different when we fuck.”

Ashton made to put a hand on Calum’s knee, but seemed to think better of it. “I would never cheat,” he promised, “I’m sorry you’ve had to think that I would do that to you.”

Calum frowned and crossed his arms. “You’ve been different,” he repeated.

“I'm sorry. I wish I was better, but…” He stared at his hands. “Sometimes I get scared that I might hurt you.”

“What d’you mean?”

Ashton swallowed. “Juvy was...really rough. I wanted to get better, but there was a lot that I needed that I didn’t get while I was there and I just...I didn’t completely recover from what happened.”

“When you assaulted someone,” Calum deadpanned.

“No, before that, I…” Ashton glanced at him. “I did that because he raped me.”

Calum’s heart stopped.

“And I lied about the assault charge,” Ashton continued, “I killed him.”