the fact that I cannot simply quit my job. there’s plenty of food and space and skilled people in the world. things could function so much better with a tenth the labor if we were efficient about it. but we aren’t. and under capitalism I love my job - I am incredibly lucky to have it and even find it fulfilling in its way. but also I am disabled and my life would be 1000% easier if I just didn’t have to find miracle jobs to make what still comes to below poverty wages given how few hours I can manage. but even though the amount of money I make is play money to other people, it’s the only thing giving me dignity, both the dignity of privacy in spending and the false dignity of being a “productive member of society”. plus, like, I gotta eat and feed my cats, even if I’m currently rent free. but sometimes I think about the ways money and my job (and their relationship with my health) play as such large factors in my decision making and I just think, ideally, those would have less weight. ideally I could just quit my job and somehow still have money. not because I don’t love the work, but because of the limitations having to maintain both a work schedule and my fatigue put on me.
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i would really love to be going down on a guy, like i’m kissing his balls or something and his hand comes around to just hold me in place while he lets out the most devastating moans above me.
and he’s like “yeah, yeah— oh shit. kiss my balls baby.”
“feels so good with you down there. put one in your mou- yes. oh my god like that, baby”
or he’s right on the edge and i haven’t kissed his balls yet but he wants to feel it before he cums. so i just feel his hands pulling me off him and then pushing me down to his balls.
“please. please i wanna- wanna feel it, sweetheart. ohhh- so fuckin’ warm. feels like m’melting, love”
“holy shit i’m right there- kiss them- kiss it, baby. kiss my balls for me, kiss ‘em”
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gonna start giving awards to people who reblog my work bc these ratios are soul sucking
am i grateful to have so many readers? yes!!! i love that y'all show so much love to my work and i appreciate every single one of you
however
reblogs are the only way my work gets spread. they're the best way to show me you actually enjoyed it, and they're my motivation to keep writing more!
likes are basically meaningless to content creators, and they also give off the vibe that you like it enough to keep it in your library but not enough to share it with your friends
does that make sense?
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On the one hand, it feels a bit late to be doing an "I'm so insecure because I'm a descendant of Firestar" plotline. You'd think if anyone was gonna deal with that it'd have been Firestar's grandchildren — especially Sparkpelt, since she looks like him — and not one of his great grandchildren born so long after he died.
On the other hand, though, I don't think Flamepaw's insecurities come from nowhere exactly. It would make sense if all of Firestar's descendants had some feeling of pressure sometimes to live up to their ancestry, and if Flamepaw is just feeling it more because he keeps messing up and taking it really hard. He wants his Clanmates to be proud of him and he's failed multiple warrior assessments because he keeps getting too caught up in his own head about it. And because he's obsessed with being descended from two leaders and the deputy, he keeps projecting onto everyone else and assuming they're always thinking about that fact too.
He actually reminds me a lot of his grandpa Bramblestar (back in TNP) in that regard. He's so fixated on his family line and the expectations that come from it that whenever he thinks someone is being unfair towards him, he shifts the blame to his ancestry and to his Clanmates.
Is Flamepaw overreacting? Yes. Is he being kind of ridiculous and unfair? Yes. But I can see how it all makes sense in his little brain.
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Smthn smthn butchered tongue making me bawl my eyes out even tho my ancestral languages weren't taken from me by force. Like. It is explicitly a song about the cultural violence of colonialism.
My experiences do not compare to that! And I still grieve! I still grieve the cultural connections and comforting tongue I lost! I grieve that in trying to better their situation amongst desperate post war poverty my grandparents and great grandparents immigrated, and the predominance of English, the necessity of it, the issues of my mother going to school not speaking any English, meant that by the time I came around the comforting dialects are only spoken between the older generations, save for a few slang words and highly specific food terms. I grieve that I can't roll my rs properly, and the Italian double consonants still trip up my tongue. I grieve that vague hazy childhood memories of my Nonna's house mean that the most comforting of accents, the most comforting tongue, is one I do not know, and can never master organically. I can study all I want but it'll never be natural. I can muddle my way through the basics, my Canadian accent grating the edges of the language, but it's not the same! It'll never be the comforting lilt of being a young child and having all the extended elderly family laughing and arguing around the table.
Obvs I am not the only generational-diaspora-immigrant kid to feel this way. I'm at the odd spot of not having been the immigrant myself, but having the people who raised me not be assimilated enough for me to really feel at home in the new culture either. I'm not far enough away, generationally, to not feel the separation. There is a persistent sense of loss for something I can only grasp the vaguely edges of.
And obvs this isn't the same as forced diasporas, of refugees, of colonial supression of native tongues. But there's still a grief there, even as I feel guilty for grieving it - I benefitted greatly, materially, from this linguistic loss. And yet! And yet!
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