There Are About 4 Million Things I Want To Complain About, But Honestly, What's The Point, Yeah? What

There are about 4 million things i want to complain about, but honestly, what's the point, yeah? What is the actual point when there's no possible way to fix any of it without making everything else worse.

(edit cause yeah that was too dramatic to long post without a cut)

I'm too young to be wanting to give up already and i know that but never in my life was i given the opportunity to develop the right skills to succeed in life, never, i was homeschooled, i didn't get to do sports, i grew up poor, i didn't get to have real hobbies that amounted to anything, i was never taken seriously for struggling with school and all the subjects, i was so late in learning how to read it should have been incredibly concerning, i would have meltdowns and then be locked in a room with all the reading books alone for god knows how long, every single school year i would have meltdowns because i knew i wasn't able to do most of it, every math lesson my head was completely empty and i had to just guess because all of it looked the same and none of it made sense, i couldn't write a 50 word "creative writing" page because nothing happened in my head, none of the topics made sense, none of the words came out right, sure i did fine in history and geography but that was just remembering a few key names and picking the most likely answers, don't ask me anything about science because i don't know and i wasn't ever taught in a way that made sense, just yelled at and yelled at and yelled at because I'm supposed to be smart I'm supposed to know this stuff i saw it be done so why can't you do it it's easy. I was exhausted everyday, i had dark circles under my eyes at 6 years old that most adults wouldn't have, I'm still always so fucking tired, i would sleep for 14 hours straight and still be so tired it was a struggle to stay awake. Why was i never seen by some doctor? There were clear signs of other shit too, shit that shouldn't have ever happened to a 6 year old but since i was always always always praised for being quiet, i kept quiet about everything, i didn't talk to anyone outside, i didn't make friends, i didn't ask for things, i couldn't ask for help from anyone. At 10, i started to seriously contemplate offing myself, and still, it's there all the time, but who do i talk to? The person that doesn't know anything about me or the person that would tell me i have no reason to feel that way? Maybe the person that was raised in the same house as me but never had my struggles, so everything was okayish? I'm tired. I want to stop thinking for just a few minutes out of the day but it never stops it never shuts up and i can't let anything out because who the fuck cares. If you're not bleeding out, then there's no reason to see a doctor. Maybe it should have been a sign when i was forgetting everything by the age of 16, maybe. Maybe it should have been a sign when i would follow a certain person around like a dog because he was the only one to show me one on one attention, but nonono, he was safe, right? He was supposed to be safe, not touch a child. But he had his own issues, so it was good to see him be calm with me and be nice with me and smile with me. He wasn't supposed to shape my life view of intimacy and sex at 6 years old. Everything was fine. Im so fucking tired and weak and scared.

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2 weeks ago

Tommy↖ Arthur ⬇ John↗

yeah...

I’m Sure Someone’s Probably Posted This Before But Dean-sam-cas

i’m sure someone’s probably posted this before but dean-sam-cas


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1 week ago

that was diabolical.


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2 weeks ago
@shirasorin Commented: "Tommy Being Incredibly Suby For John." On This Post

@shirasorin commented: "Tommy being Incredibly suby for John." on this post

(putting a cut on my yelling starting now cause i've realized it's literally the nice thing to do cause i know my thoughts are very ooc and not everyone wants to see that! i can be a decent human i swear it by the old gods and the new!)

It's like an itch, one that won't go away till it's raw and bleeding, the subsequent scab is almost more annoying than the initial itch.

"So sweet when you're like this, not a word comin' from your mouth 'less it's please and thank you. S'how it should be," John murmurs in his ear, chin hooked over Tommy's shoulder to look down at his working hand. Well, one of his working hands, John's got his left hand -the one he's watching- in a loose fist around Tommy's cock, and his right pumping three fingers into his older brother's slicked hole.

Thank God for Vaseline and door locks.

There's probably a better place to do this than Tommy's little twin bed, a nice hotel or even a wagon out in the countryside, somewhere Tommy doesn't have to worry about being too loud, a place where he can drop to his knees whenever John commands, doesn't have to wear a thread of clothing all day, let John tough as he pleases, bend Tommy over as he pleases... For now, though, he has to be grateful that he's getting anything at all from John.

And so here they are: both of them stripped bare, slotted together back to front while they kneel on Tommy's thin mattress, Tommy practically sitting -squirming- in John's lap as his little brother uses his body as he pleases. Exactly where Tommy wants to be, canting his hip back and forth-back and forth, fucking John's calloused hand and fucking himself on John's thick fingers, whimpering every time they manage to brush against his sweet spot, hanging his head low as color rises to his cheeks when John lets out an amused sound against the back of his neck. John is fucking laughing at him, laughing at how easy he is to please, how easily he spread his legs for his little brother.

"That feel nice?" Gravel. Gravel and honey is what John's voice sounds like right now as it hums through Tommy's brain, making him shiver and nod clumsily. "Tell me, brother." John sucks a bruise to the lithe muscle of his older brother's shoulder, a mark for Tommy to press on later.

"Feels nice- feels fucking perfect, John, thank you. Fuck, please fuck me, John, please," Tommy pants out, tongue flitting over his lips, hands grasping at John's forearm but not daring to guide him in any way. There will be bruises littering John's arm by the morning with how tight Tommy is clutching at him, his nails nearly breaking the skin.

"Good boy, Tommy. A very good boy you are. I don't think you've earned that yet, though, might have to ask a little nicer," John tightens his grip on Tommy's cock exactly how his brother likes, slowing his right hand to a languid thrust as he does his best to rub them in firm, torturous circles over Tommy's prostate, making him gasp and buck and cause tears to spring to his eyes. If John knows how to do one thing, it's make his older brother cry through an orgasm.

---

512 that's a bit more common a wordcount for me lmao Thank you for the prompt!!!!!!


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1 week ago
Canadians Asleep On Invasion, 1944. National Archives Of Canada.

Canadians Asleep on Invasion, 1944. National Archives of Canada.


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Carwood, he/him, adult, queer. MCU (Sam/Bucky/Joaquín, Bucky/Yelena) Peaky Blinders (Arthur/John/Tommy, Finn/Isaiah, Michael/Tommy) GenKill (Brad/Ray, Nate/Mike, Walt/Trombley, ngl there's too many) BoB (Bottom!Dick truther so anyone can fuck him) The Pacific (Bottom!AckAck truther so anyone can fuck him) gif header by @normalbrothers

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