and messing with my mother

Mrs Willison’s Homemade Jam

by reddit user FamilialDichotomy

As a child, I was a picky eater like I assume most children are. As my parents tell it, my eating habits transcended normal childhood proclamations of “I don’t like broccoli!” and evolved into a refusal to eat absolutely anything of substance. Things other children might eat and enjoy like chicken nuggets, spaghetti, or even a hot dog were shunned by toddler me. It got to the point, they say, where they and my paediatrician became concerned for my health.

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8

25 favourite movies (16/25) - The way we were, 1973

Your girl is lovely, Hubbell. Why don’t you bring her for a drink when you come?

Angel in the Darkness (M) pt.4

Originally posted by aestheticvbts

Summary: After a patient urgently pleads you to go and help a friend of his, you naively agree to it. Little did you know, that you would get more than what you agreed to, when he leads you to a brothel, to help a dangerous prostitute named Jeon Jungkook.

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader (ft. Jin, but not romantically)

Genre: Smut (M), angst, mafia!au, prostitution!au

A/N:This is a dark and filthy story! Graphic descriptions of sex (masturbating, etc), heavy dom/sub undertones, drug use, vulgar language use……(alot of smut comes in later) This is a mature read! You have been warned!

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5



“You’re a mistake! You should have never even been born!” the group of nine-year old’s like yourself, taunted you.

You were mindlessly walking outside during recess, until a group of kids from your class cornered you. They formed a circle around you, deciding to remind you of what kind of blasphemy you were.

“Just leave me alone!” you screeched back at them, just wanting to distance yourself. You tried to leave, but there was no escape, as they would just push you back into the middle of the circle.

“Where are you going you little bitch?” a boy who was a bit taller than you mocks.

When you glare at him to try to push past, he shoves you roughly back, making you fall on the cold cement. You cringe when you skid against the ground, layers of skin from your elbows and hands being ripped off.

Each of them laugh at you, as you just sit still on the ground, not daring to look up at them. Why did this always have to happen to you?

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What they said

 “You don’t need equal rights, you already have more rights than everyone,” said my father, after he openly said he wouldn’t hire a gay worker, not even me, his daughter.

“You don’t deserve to have kids,” said my mother, who couldn’t understand why the words she said made me cry. “A child deserves a mother and a father, and two queers like you could never raise a child.”

“But she doesn’t look like a lesbian,” said my aunt, the one family member I thought might defend me.

“Where did we go wrong,” asked my parents, as if there was something wrong with me. “We thought we raised you better than this.”

“You’re just confused,” said my father. “Therapy can help you figure out your feelings.”

“She goes to the University of Minnesota,” said my relatives, “what did they expect, her to come out normal?”

“Do you know where people like you go when you die?” asked my brother, who wouldn’t look me in the eye. “Do you want to go to hell?”

“You should be careful,” said my mother, when I told her I was going out. “Because do you know where you’ll go if you die today?”

“All transgender people should just be shot,” said my mother, “just like the queer people they are.”

“You need a mental examination,” was the reaction of my parents, after they first found out. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

“I’ve met a lot of lesbians,” said my cousin, the girl I once considered my best  friend, “but she just doesn’t give off the vibe.”

“She’s going to regret this when she’s older,” said another relative, after I came out on facebook. “She is ruining hope of having a normal life.”

“I love you,” said my good friend, crying like I had told her something bad. “But you know I can’t accept that lifestyle.”

“We’re praying for you,” said everyone, as if I had said I was sick.

“I am so glad you’re over that,” said my mother as I was finding out what heartbreak meant. “Now you need to date a nice boy.”

“I think she’s over that stage,” my mother told my aunt after.

“You are messed up,” was a text I got from my mother while I was attending the Women’s March.

“All that is is a march of a bunch of queers.” She spit out the last word, said it like it tasted as bad as I felt when I heard it.

“I just thought you had better morals than that,” said my mom. “You really have no morals to be doing that.”

“It’s just gross,” they said. “How can a woman love another woman? Something is wrong in your head if you think that’s okay.”

Gross, disgusting, immoral, unspeakable, sickening, shameful, horrid, dyke, queer.

“Don’t tell anyone, ever,” said my mother, ashamed of her daughter.

“We can never accept or condone your behavior,” said my father. “Having this around will influence everyone in the family.”

“You’re heading down a slippery slope,” said my mother. “If that’s how you want to live your life, go ahead. But the only thing that waits for you is drugs and alcohol, because you’ll need it to live with yourself.”

“I just can’t stand her,” said my mother to my sister.

“The last the we want to do is push you away, but we have other kids to think about,” said my mother, because obviously the other kids are more important than me.

“You are nothing but a queer,” said my mother, to my face.

“And we will never,” said my mother, “accept you or your lifestyle choice.”

Girlfriends Family

Anonymous submission

One New Years night I was 14 and dating this girl who was 15 and I went to her place at her invite. Her parents had gone out and she was stuck at home babysitting her sister. As the night went on she popped in a porn that she said she found in her parents room and we started fooling around and she ended up sucking my cock when headlights hit the front of the house.
She jumped and hit the power on the tv turning it off but not the vcr and took off in to her room carrying her clothes.
I quickly pulled my pants on and put my shirt on and say there in dark like an idiot when her parents came in. Her mom looked especially hot wearing one of those tight pencil dresses and heels. (It was the eighties) I could almost see up her dress it was pulled up so far. Her dad asked where his daughter was and I just pointed toward her room and he disappeared in that direction.
Her mom comes and sits on the couch next to me and asked how our night was. I told her it was great. She asked what we had done and I said watched a movie and the countdown on mtv. That was when she picked up the tv remote and said something about the vcr still going and went to power the tv up. I knew shit was about to hit the fan. The tv comes up and suddenly the room is filled with this porn star getting railed and moaning. I waited for the scolding when suddenly her mom starts biting her lip and spreads her legs a bit and starts rubbing herself. She asked if this was the movie we watched and I said not the only one but yes. She asked what we’d done while watching the movie. Did we do what we saw on the screen and I, extremely nervous nodded yes. She then reached over and starts rubbing my cock through my jeans and asked if her daughter did this to me also. Instantly I was hard again and said yes ma'am.

Was her pussy wet?

I was shocked at the bold question but never the less said she was. She then grabs my hand and spreads her legs pretty wide and shoved my hand down her panties and asked if it was as wet hers was right now. I said a little wetter as she pressed my fingers into her and told me to show her what I did to make her daughters pussy so wet. I reached over and start fingering her as she undid my pants and pulled them off of me in a flash and had my cock in her hand stroking me. She stands up and starts undressing completely and I was freaking out her husband or my gf would come back at any minute but so turned on. Her mom was hot as fuck and would always wear skimpy outfits around the house and always rubbed her tits on me as I passed her in the kitchen or hallway. I could hear the girl on Tv getting fucked good but when I looked st the screen she wasn’t fucking. As her mom knelt down and started sucking my dick I quickly realized the fucking noises were coming from down the hall. I soon realized it was my girlfriend yelling fuck me daddy. I was incredibly turned on because I had no idea they were open. My sister and I had been fucking for a few years since we were about 6 and I’d shared that with my gf one night while we were messing around. Her mother straddles me and slides down facing me and starts kissing me and asking if I liked fucking her. I grabbed her hips and began thrusting into her as I said yes very much so. About then her husband comes walking in naked with a hard cock and sits on the couch next to his wife and they start making out while she’s riding me.
My girlfriend then appears completely naked and sweaty. She walks over and kisses me and then climbs on her fathers cock facing forward and made out with her mom. The girls switched and her parents fucked and watched us. She told me they’d been open since she was younger and when she told them about me and my sis, they wanted to invite me in to their bed with her tonight. It was a set up from the get go. Since then everytime id drop by her mom loved to fuck even if my gf wasn’t home.
They ended up moving to another state after about a year for her dads job and we lost touch. I’ve tried reaching her on several occasions with no luck. One day maybe.

2

I was married. With a daughter. |Where are they now?| They died. |Oh, I’m so sorry.| Oh, you had no way of knowing. |What happened?| They were killed, murdered. |Murdered? Did they… did they catch who did it?| No. 

The Right Way

When John opens his eyes, everything is white and silent.

His first feeling is shock.
Shock over this surreal environment. The sand, the heat, the tanks and the death have disappeared. No screams and no helicopter sounds can be heard. Instead, quiet, friendly voices around him. Birds singing somewhere. Well, outside. Outside where the sun shines. Where there is a daily life. Around him is the smell of disinfectants and mild detergent.

John blinks at the bright light in the room. He realizes he’s in a bed. No narrow, hard cot. It is a large, soft bed. A thick pillow under his head. A blanket pulled up to his chin. It’s warm.

He also notes that he can hardly move. It’s like a heavy weight is pushing him down.
John grunts, and wiggles tentatively with his toes under the blanket. This works very well. But as he tries to lift his head, an unpleasant, throbbing pain passes through his shoulder. At the same time, it occurres to him that he has been shot.
Shot. In Afghanistan.

John lets his head sink back into the pillow and breathes in the cool air in the room.
I was shot …
Pictures before his eyes make him swallow.
Running soldiers, screams, shots, an explosion. A hand on his arm, a whisper, a groan as eyes close forever …
And then the sharp pain as the bullet pierces him. Pain, so much pain, he falls into the sand and he can hear his name. Someones shouting his name …
A moment later it’s all gone.

John knows he’s been taken to a hospital. For the initial treatment. And then. Home.

Home, meaning this hospital.

He sighs, and licks his dry lips. Thirst.
His gaze falls to the side of the wall, where a call button is.
He presses it.
A few minutes later, a young nurse comes into the room. She smiles the certain standard smile, which is so common in a hospital.
“Ah, Dr. Watson, you are awake. Very good. The doctor will want to see your wound soon. Do you need something?”
“Water,” John can only croak with difficulty. And he points his finger vaguely at the bed. “Could you … raise it please?”
“Yes, of course.” The nurse pushes a button on the bed and it slowly lifts. “I’ll bring you water.”
Then she is gone again.

John can see the room better now. And when he looks aside, he sees that he is not alone.
Next to him is another bed. And there is a man in it.
The face half hidden by an oxygen mask.
John can see thick, dark locks. And pale, almost white skin. He judges the man to be in his mid-thirties. He stares at the completely motionless body and swallows. Something is drawing him to this unknown man … something he can not explain. John notes that he is fascinated. Fascinated without really having a reason for it. He shakes his head slightly.

The nurse comes back with a mug and a water bottle.
She pours him water into the mug and John takes it with a still unsteady hand. He drinks, relieved.
Then he says softly, “Who is that?”
The nurse follows his gaze and says with a sad undertone, “Oh, this is Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes. He’s been here for a long time. Almost half a year. He’s in a coma.”
“Ah,” John says, swallowing. Half a year. That’s a long time. “How …?”
“How it happened? He overdosed on cocain. We … well, we can’t ask him, but we think it was a suicide attempt.” She gently shakes her head and takes the empty mug from John. “It’s really a shame. He never gets any visitors. Never. The thought that no one in the world is there for him … Who knows if he will ever wake up again. Perhaps there is simply nothing worth it for … Oye, I talk too much.” She seems a little embarrassed and clears her throat. “If you need anything, just call, ok? The doctor should be here any minute.”
“Thank you. Yes.”
The nurse leaves. John does not look away from the sleeping man in the other bed.

Half a year. No visit.
Jesus.

*
The days pass at a quiet, slow pace, which both soothes and disturbs John.
He is not used to it.
He almost expects to be suddenly torn from the calm routine by a shrill siren. Or suddenly lie back in the hot, bloody sand of the desert.
But of course it doesn’t happen.
Instead, he wakes up around 9 in the morning, receives his breakfast and is examined. The doctor is friendly and passive. Nodding pleased at the sight of John’s wound, while John himself stares at the hole in his shoulder with a growing nausea.
After that, he can only watch TV, or watch Sherlock being fed.
It’s hard to watch.
No reaction comes from the comatose man, when the nurses lift his limbs off the bed to wash him. Turn him to his side. Dress him again.
The motionless body doesn’t resist. It reminds John of a doll. He does not like this thought.
At noon, they bring John food again.
For Sherlock, of course, nothing comes. He is fed artificially.
In the evening, more food. And more TV.
A lot of rest. A little too much, John thinks once, and feels strangely guilty at the thought.
On the third day of this routine, he talks to Sherlock for the first time.
It’s because a James Bond movie is on.
John always liked James Bond.
And that’s what he says.
“This is a good movie. A really good movie. Lots of action. And the women are pretty, the men too,” he says aloud in the room. And laughs. There’s no answer. And he feels a little stupid.

*

After a while, John realizes that he will not get any visitors either.
It’s not really that surprising.
Harry is … well, he doesn’t even know where his sister lives. His mother is dead. And he does not want to see his father. Not that he thinks, his father would want to see him …
Once, he receives a call from the leader of his unit. From Afghanistan. He says something like, “it’s a shame” and “get back on your feet soon”. John doesn’t say much. He only murmurs “Yes, sir” now and then.
His hand is trembling as he holds the phone. A tremor. It hasn’t stopped since he woke up.
He doesn’t get any visitors. Just like Sherlock.
Only the nurses and the doctor enter the room.
“Here we are, huh?” John says to Sherlock while eating his bland soup. “We’re alone together here.”

And then the nightmares start. About the war. About death and pain. About men he could not save. Distorted faces in the dark. Eyes full of despair.
He wakes up in the middle of the night. Heavily breathing. Bathed in sweat.
He moans and sits up with difficulty. Runs a hand over his face.
He looks at Sherlock. Sherlock, who is, as always, motionless in bed. A part of his face lit from the machine that measures his heartbeat.
John swallows. He must … He feels the overwhelming desire to talk to someone. It needs to stop. He can not … Oh, hell, he has no one and it’s not like Sherlock would complain, right?
He clears his throat and begins.

“Well, uh, Sherlock. How do you feel? Um, I hope I didn’t wake you. Sorry, haha, bad joke … I had a nightmare, which is quite obviously, right? Well, uhm, I hope it doesn’t bother you if I just talk a little. Yes. I’ll talk. So make yourself comfortable. Haha.
Sometimes I think I’ve gone the wrong way. I became a doctor because I wanted to help people. And the army … Well, it was just a whim. An idea that me and my friends had. One of them is dead, by the way. Mmh. I … it was not always bad. The training was exhausting though. Sometimes I thought I could not make it. My family was not much help either. My father is an asshole. There is no other word. My sister was thrown out. My mother died. It was all … a mess, you know? Anyway, I’ve been struggling. I wanted to do it. This one thing. And I did it. I’ve become a doctor. I went to Afghanistan and treated soldiers. I’ve seen things that would turn your stomach. Wounds that seemed like death sentences. I’ve looked into hopeless, desperate eyes. Sometimes I saved them. Sometimes I couldn’t.
And the faces of those I could not save, they haunt me now, you know? In my dreams. God. I’m so sorry. I really am … Do you see that? I’m crying. That hasn’t happened for a long time. It seems to make you sentimental when you get a bullet in your shoulder … " 

*

"Thank you for listening to me all the time, Sherlock. All this blabbering must be terrible. I thought about James today. Who that is? Well, good question. We were more than friends. But never more than … no idea. I kissed him. Well. In the desert, watching the sunset. Once. Just once. Do you think that is romantic? Shit, yes. Mabye it is. ”

*
“My middle name is Hamish. I hate it. I mean, who calls their child John Hamish? My father chose my name. There we have it again. This bastard. Hamish. I always avoid telling people that name. So, I guess that makes us mates? Hey, buddy, haha. No. That just sounds wrong. Sorry.”
*
"I can get up today. Great, huh? I feel like an old man. My damn shoulder, my trembling hand … a pretty sad picture I make, huh? ”

“It was not so bad. I mean, I for some reason I’m limping, quite badly, but the fresh air was great. I was down in the park. And imagine, a woman spoke to me. She’s called Mary. She said she’s working here. She is nice. And you know what, I asked her if we could go for a coffee. She said yes. Can I get a ‘well done’? No? All right. ”
*
“Do you know, that you’re pretty? Really, you are. I maybe would have asked you out, if I met you somewhere else before. Oh God, sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me today. I … Maybe I’m just afraid. Because … well. I’ll have to leave here soon, I guess. And I don’t know what to do then …”
*
“Well, that’s it. I … tomorrow I can go. I don’t know exactly where, but I can go. Mmh. I think I’m really scared. Mary said I should do therapy. No idea if that would help. I guess, I can try it. Maybe. Well, I’ll pack my things. You know … you really could wake up to say good-bye to me. It would be nice …”
*
“Surprise! Yes, here I am again. I … I missed you, Sherlock. You’re a good listener, you know? Better than my therapist … So, what happened since I left, tell me, haha.”
*
“I will marry Mary. That’s … yes, that’s good, right? She is … she gives me a certain hold in life. I would not know where else to go. What else could I do? So. We are getting married.”
*
“Oh God. Fuck Hey, Sherlock. I … She’s pregnant. She … she’s really pregnant. Did you hear that? I’m having a baby. I’m going to be a father. I. Can you belive that? No, me neither. I … Oh my God, what am I doing?”
*
“This is not what I wanted, do you hear me Sherlock? That … my God, I can not do that. That’s … That’s not me. Fuck. ”
*
“I love her … Really, I do. I mean, I married her. But … I just do not know what I’m doing. I’m … This is not me. I don’t want a quiet family life in a terraced area. I want … I don’t even really know what I want … But, I hate all of this. I … I thought I was going the right way this time, but that … that’s not what I want. I’m not a family man, Sherlock. ”
*
“You know, Sherlock, you can just wake up once. So … so we could really talk. Because, well … You listen to me here as I talk every day. Aren’t you bored. Jesus. I know it would be a miracle if you woke up. I have … I’ve heard the nurses talking. They’ve given up on you. It would be a miracle. But … I don’t know, maybe you can just make the miracle happen for me? Simply … Oh God, I don’t know what I’m talking about. Good bye, Sherlock. Until tomorrow.”
*
6 weeks later.

“Hello, Dr. Watson. I’m sorry to call you so late, but he … he’s asking for you.”

“Who? Who is asking for me?”

“Sherlock Holmes. The coma patient you have been visiting. He woke up and now he’s asking for you. Very urgently.”

John hurried to the hospital. He doesn’t even notice that he left his cane at home. Until Sherlock points it out. Sherlock, sitting upright in bed, an exhausted, oblique smile on his face.
Sherlock, who says quietly, “Hello, John.”
Sherlock, who steals John’s heart within a second and opens the door to a whole new, completely different story. Who shows John a new way. Which is finally

           the right one. 



This was inspired by this beautiful post of @johnnlocked: AU in which Sherlock is in a coma and John is in the same room.

Corrected by my wonderful beta @bakerstreet-irregular <3

Tags are under the cut. As always, if I forgot you or you want to be tagged in future works, tell me :)

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He said I didn't have the right to refuse him

I was a sophomore in high school when this boy moved from D.R. and was enrolled in my class. He was a real sweetie, barely spoke English but I spoke Spanish so we started to kind of be friends. We hung out a few times when he told me he had fallen in love with me over facebook. I told him that his gesture was sweet but I wasn’t interested in him. That’s when he became very agressive and nasty. He told me that I was his woman and I didn’t have the right to refuse him. Me, being the smart ass I am, told him that if he had a problem with me not wanting to be with him then we can just not be friends anymore. He blew up my phone constantly for two hours after I told him off. I ignored him knowing that I had to see him in class the next day. Right when I was about to walk into the class we shared, I was pulled by my backpack and shoved into the lockers. He had me pinned and was threatening me  that if he couldn’t have me then nobody could. I pushed him and he grabbed my wrists. Thank god another student saw and pulled him off of me. The principal got involved and called both our parents. His mother gave me a deathstare the entire time asking me why I was leading on her son. However, my mother was not to be messed with. My mother then grilled her telling her she needs to show her son how to respect women and that we would be pressing charges. I showed my principal the messages he sent me and then they took his phone and saw the same things. He was arrested for assault after the cameras showed him pushing me and touching me.