#cw: ageing

[saltwaterandstars]

I while ago I saw @doctornerdington recommend the book Body Work by Melissa Febos. I recently bought it and I'm about halfway through reading it. So far I think it's excellent and I'm finding it helpful, but it's stirring up lots of thoughts and feelings and so I've decided to write some notes about that to keep a record of how I'm responding to it. So, under the cut it a personal essay of sorts. It's not a statement about what I think anyone else is experiencing or should do, it's just a record of my own experiences, thoughts and feelings about which are being evoked as I read this book. If you do read what I've written and want to comment, I'd welcome that, but it is quite long and I'm imagining not many people will read it. If you are going to have a read though, please note the content warning tags. I wasn't sure really what it needed tagging for, so if you do read it, let me know if you think it should be tagged differently.

Body Work is a series of essays by Melissa Febos. On one level it’s a book about writing memoirs—writing about personal experience. But the book is about much more than that. She talks a lot about the scripts we have taken in from society, from the patriarchy, scripts that we unconsciously write from, but also the same scripts that we shape our selves and our lives around. I’ve just finished the essay Mind Fuck, which is ostensibly about writing sex scenes. But in exploring what goes on when go to write about sex, especially when that we includes people disenfranchised and brutalised by the patriarchy, she’s really exploring what it is to be an embodied person; what it is to understand our physical and sexual realities, to live them, to make conscious choices in relation to them, and to write about them. She talks about the importance of identifying and getting beyond the narrative threads that were previously sewn into me by sources of varying nefariousness or innocuity.

I’m finding reading the book personally very helpful but, of course, it’s only helpful to the extent that it’s disturbing me, that it’s leading me to bump into and acknowledge the scripts—body-related, sexual, and otherwise—that I’m still living in accordance with. It’s interesting that this process feels to me so desperately uncomfortable, terrifyingly unsettling, actually, and yet, at the same time, it also feels like such a compassionate thing to be doing for myself.

I’m a white woman in my late 50s. I come from a poor, working class background, but through education and profession I am clearly middle-class now (and class is still a big deal in the UK, even if it’s not as explicit as it used to be). I look and sound middle-class and have the privileges that come with that. I’m bisexual but have been in a monogamous relationship with a man for 25 years, so pretty much everyone who knows me or interacts with me sees me as straight. To a very large extent, for the first four decades of my life, I tried very hard to live within the straitjacket placed on me by the patriarchy, especially in relation to my body. I spent many years trying not to gain weight, trying to be conventionally, heteronormatively attractive and so on. And like many women, I was fully aware of where those scripts, those rules, were coming from and the harm they were doing me, but I was just too scared to even attempt to let go of them in any kind of meaningful way.

There were ways in which I did live beyond the patriarchy’s imposed limitations. For example, I had a successful career in a male-dominated profession. But in my 20s and 30s especially, I attempted to do that while still trying to be seen as attractive and well-behaved and unthreatening (which would be hilarious if it wasn’t so heart-breaking—I was threatening just by existing in those spaces—I couldn’t be there and be successful and not be a threat.)

I also had a sex life where, at least some of the time, I experienced myself as having agency and freedom. But I lived that part of my life pretty much secretly. I wasn’t ashamed of my sexual behaviour; I just didn’t trust that society—including many of the people in my day-to-day life—would value and respect me if I allowed myself as a sexual being to be more fully seen. So I hid myself from view—not an uncommon coping strategy for me.

In my 20s to 40s, I was frequently fearful and anxious. Whenever I did something that challenged the scripts, the rules, I was very scared. I am not a feisty, up-for-a-fight kind of person. I find breaking rules difficult, and being a ‘difficult person,’ challenging other people, even just disagreeing with other people, feels disturbing to me (this can’t possibly have its roots in my childhood—surely not?!) So when I did do political things, feminist things, when I stood up for colleagues, said no to unreasonable demands, just disagreed with people, even, I felt real, like I had acted authentically and in accordance with my values, but I also frequently felt like the world was about to end. At the very least, I was often just waiting to be punished and expelled from the pack. It’s a hard way to live.

My 50s have brought me—through the menopause and the development of a life-changing chronic illness, and the death of people I love—some dreadful challenges, but also, through the exact same experiences, a real increase in freedom. For one thing, I am no longer attractive in a stereotypical heteronormative way. I’m just not. My body just can’t be that anymore. And while I’ve had grief and fear around that, I do also have an ever-increasing sense of freedom because of these changes, too. And because I’ve been so ill and my poor body has had (and continues to have) such a difficult time, my whole way of relating to myself as an embodied person has had to change. I’ve had to cultivate great oceans of kindness and patience to be in this struggling body, and it turns out, kindness and patience with my body are also antidotes to the poison of the patriarchal rules I swallowed in when I was young. Who knew?!

And I have to say, the less invested I am in being seen as attractive and pleasant and reasonable, the more my fears around the imagined consequences of being authentically myself subside. In the last couple of years in work before I retired, for example, I was pretty much immune to the attempts by my (mostly younger male) colleagues to pressure or bulldoze or embarrass or emotionally blackmail me into doing what they wanted. I wouldn’t say I became fearless because I didn’t, but alongside the fear was a kind of gleeful, arms folded across my chest sense of oh this is going to be interesting.

The death of loved ones has been an immensely painful experience, but it has also functioned as rocket fuel to help launch me out of my state of fear-based inertia. I’m not going to go into details, but basically everyone else in my immediate family died young, so I’m a chronically ill woman approaching old age with a truly awful genetic inheritance in terms of family longevity. I hope I live till I’m 90, but maybe I won’t. Maybe if there are changes I need to make to be more alive and present and free in my life, I might want to get on with that. So the questions I’ve asked myself again and again in different forms over the last few years are: How many more years am I going to spend living by these shitty rules? How many more years am I going to waste not allowing myself to explore who I actually am? To be who I am? Oh, and when I die, do I want them to put something like She was always so well-behaved—on my headstone? Is that how I want to live the rest of my life? Et cetera, et cetera.

Over the last few years, in ways small and large, I’ve managed to shrug off bits of the straitjacket. The biggest change is that I’ve completely stepped away from a pretty successful but personally damaging career. I’ve also allowed myself to finally get to know my pagan self and to be that self more publicly. And regularly in day-to-day situations I’m managing to catch myself about to act in accordance with Febos’ narrative threads that were previously sewn into me. Sometimes I manage to step out of automatic pilot and to make a conscious choice to do something different, to be more authentically myself in that moment, even when that feels scary and exposing.

Which all sounds great—and it is! But if that was the end of the story, then reading Body Work would not be proving so unsettling for me. Turns out, the really difficult explorations and changes I’ve already made were actually the easier stuff. Could it be that I’ve managed to avoid the extremely difficult work by focussing on the really difficult work?! As I’m reading the book, it’s becoming clear that what still remains to be examined and unpicked is the tough stuff. So here I am again today, asking myself the questions:

Who is it serving to keep myself, my needs, my wants, my interests, my values, hidden from view and not enacted in the world?

And how is doing all that serving me, too?

And how many more of my precious remaining years do I intend to spend in this understandable but deeply unsatisfying holding pattern?

[asteroidtroglodyte]

5 years ago, I was in Rehab.

10 years ago, I was watching my Potential and Opportunities dissolve and evaporate in an ocean of cheap gin and expensive whiskey.

But 5 years ago, I was in Rehab.

One of the exercises they had us perform was to imagine ourselves happy, 5 years in the future.

Many of us in that room had forgotten how to imagine nice things happening to them. A few snorted (well, I snorted), finding the notion that we’d even still be around in 5 years grimly humorous.

For about half of us, it was the last stop on the way down.

But I indulged the therapist. I was there, after all, because I did not want to die. So, I imagined myself, 5 years hence.

Happy.

It came to me all at once; an artistic remix on Norman Rockwell’s Freedom From Want, reframed with myself placing food at the table.

Sunday Dinner At My Place, I answered, when it came my turn to share my fantasy. I was asked what food I imagined eating.

It’s not the meal itself, I said, it’s the implications framed around it. Sunday Dinner At My Place means that I have a Place. It means that I have Family that will actually speak to me and friends who actually want to see me. It means money enough not just to feed myself but others too. It means having the time to spare to take the time preparing the meal.

A lot of nodding heads all around me. A struck chord. Many people with no Place, in that place. Nowhere that would lament their leaving.

5 years hence, as I lay down to sleep in my Home, with my Wife and my Son, surrounded by my Art and my Flowers, I reflect.

It was a long road. It was hard. We lost people. So many people. There were long days and long nights and hospital stays. Angry arguments with ghosts. I changed, in ways I never hoped for, or expected. Good ways, finally, for once. Slowly, against the backdrop of a world in chaos, I found my mind.

Sometimes, My Wife wondered aloud, what she did to deserve me. After some stumbling with my feelings, I eventually settled on an answer.

I’m a Rescue.

She gave me a Home.

And, so, I gave her a Family.

It seemed fair

This Sunday, my folks, which whom I have not had a shouting match in years, will come over for dinner. We will cook and eat together. My Friend became My Wife, and she took a piece of me and with it she made Our Son. There will be many hugs, and no violence. Good Things Happened.

I don’t know who needs to hear this, but you don’t know what the future holds.

don’t give up yet, ok?

It could get good, even.

[doccywhomst]

[xxsabitoxx]

Yuji being obsessed with the eating your pussy and accidentally teaching Sukuna how enjoyable it can be.

Sukuna, who’s never seen the appeal in going down on a woman. He figures he would personally gain no pleasure from it so why even bother?

Yuji, who’s the polar opposite and dreams of the day he can finally get you in his bed. Just so he can shove his head between your thighs and eat you out until you’re crying

Sukuna, who’s been forced to listen to these thoughts for years now because Yuji won’t grow a pair and just ask you out. Seriously, it’s been years, he’s losing his mind.

Yuji, who finally asks you out after one shot for courage and can’t believe it when you’re telling him that you’ve been waiting forever for him to ask that question.

Yuji, who forgets that even a single shot of liquor can get him buzzed and in no time at all he has his hands all over you. Not that you mind, you’ve waited just as long for him.

Yuji, who’s dragging you into a random bedroom at this house party and is locking the door behind you, lips glued to yours as he backs you up until you’re falling onto the mattress with him on top of you.

Yuji, who’s kissing his way down your body, falling to his knees before you as he nearly drags your lower half off of the mattress. Tugging your pants and underwear off in one go just to toss them somewhere into the room

Yuji, who’s spreading your thighs apart to finally catch a glimpse of the cunt he’s been dreaming of for years. Saliva pooling in his mouth at the sight of your dripping cunt.

Yuji, who’s whining as he moves his head lower, nipping and sucking the plush flesh of your inner thighs. Your nosies only egging him on as he moves his way upwards.

Yuji, who’s breath is coming out in short pants as he hovers just above your cunt, asking your permission one last time since he knows he’ll be too far gone to stop soon.

Yuji, who’s whimpering against your cunt as he eats you out, tongue licking greedily along your slit before prodding at your swollen clit. Drool leaking down his chin and subsequently your cunt, mixing with your arousal.

Yuji, who has you falling apart on his tongue over and over before he’s even satisfied enough to come up for air. His cheeks flushed pink and hair a mess from where your hands had been pulling at it.

Yuji, who’s begging you to let him eat you again, as if his lips and chin aren’t covered in your sticky arousal. Watching as you struggle to catch your breath, not thinking he would make you cum as many times as he had.

Yuji, who’s practically crying when you lazily nod “yes”, your eyelids almost impossible to keep open as you fall back against the mattress and let him eat you out for the umpteenth time that night.

Sukuna, who’s eyes have been fully opened (against his will) to the appeal in eating a woman’s cunt.

Mildly unfinished but like… the vision is there my

Edit: based on some recent comments and anons I’ve received, there seems to be some confusion with this post.

So let me clarify that Yuji is 21-22 in this, he is in college, I’ve written him the age he would be in 2024.

If you don’t agree with aging up characters? Don’t read the post, or just block me. It’ll save all of us the time and sanity.

[felassan]

Dragon Age: Origins released 15 years ago today!

[saltlordofold]

double tank team issues 😔

[haverdoodles]

heatstroke

— (varric)

.

heatstroke trend on twt featuring grizzled varric, as requested by my dear followers. SOMEONE GET THIS MAN SOME ALOE

[wanologic]

yo danny fenton he was just 19

[sttoru]

thinking of dating older bf!satoru. . .and i’m talking like you’re in your early 20’s and he’s in his early 30’s.

the way he texts at the start of your blooming relationship is super attractive somehow. like the most simplest of texts would get you weak in the knees. texts like ‘good morning, sweetheart.’ // ‘how’s my pretty girl doing?’ // ‘there’s my gorgeous girl.’ // ‘rise ‘n shine, sleepyhead.’ // ‘it’s okay, baby. i understand.’ // ‘you never fail to amaze me, huh.’

or when you’re being very risky via your messenger app, older bf!satoru is definitely the type to say ‘careful.’ // ‘you’re gonna get me in trouble.’ // ‘you’re being quite brave today, doll. // ‘aww, how adorable of you.’ // ‘mhm? that so?’

also . . . gives you money out of the blue. randomly. doesn’t question it at all. or sends expensive gifts your way too without you asking. older bf!satoru would text you stuff like; ‘here’s some money, gorgeous. want you to spoil yourself for me today, okay?’ // ‘just a little gift.’ // ‘you deserve a break, baby. here you go.’ // ‘got you something small.’

and then you check your bank account and it’s an easy $200 / $500 / $800 ++ added by him. or when he’s sending gifts to your apartment, it’s gonna be one of them reaaaaal expensive ones. probably ones you eyed before or had mention you liked very briefly, but didn’t get it because of the price.

definitely also the type to try and accommodate or match his texting style to yours as the months go by. kinda to match your energy. perhaps fails horribly at it, but it’s cute to see him try.

[aamuusva]

Ghilan'nain, Mother of the halla

[mari-lair]

quick sketch cause i already have too many wips

[reedsues]

@swsource​ star wars week: day 5 – don't make me nickname you clones & chosen names

no guarantee or ambition for absolute completeness

[tacticalprincess]

messy blowjobs with mean, older boyfriend könig. because as much as he loves your innocence and lack of experience, he can't help but shame you for it, if only to see the way you pout and feign off tears at his harsh words and patronizing tone. he'll nitpick everything you do; if you're too eager, he'll scold you for being greedy (you might accidentally bite him!) and if you're too hesitant, he'll taunt you for being afraid to handle his size, or guilt trip you for not wanting to pleasure him.

he works you up and teases you with his words and cock for what seems like hours at a time, until you're frustrated and sniffling back your embarrassment, wanting nothing more than to please him correctly. and only then, when you’re nearly choking on your drool and tears, will he loosen the reigns. pity lacing the way he cards through your hair, but his eyes are glazed over with desire as he watches you lick and suck around his girthy, meaty cock, your movements so unpracticed and genuinely curious. sweet little thing, barely concealing a whine when he pulls out to give you a few lovetaps on your cheek and tongue, dirtying your cute face with a mix of your spit and his precum.

"there you go. see? you just need a firm hand, maus. it's the only way you'll learn."

alternatively — ‘throat training’, where he gives you no warning before he’s trying to force himself down your virgin throat, shushing the panicked whimpers that muffle around your sudden mouthful. relishes in the way you gag on his girth, your gummy throat constricting around his dick and creating the perfect suction.

“don’t fight it, little one, you can take it. be good and swallow what i give you, ja?”

apologizes for his brute behavior by kissing your mascara soaked cheeks and holding you close, after you make him cum, of course.

it’s rare nowadays, for a man to be so willing to put up with this degree of naivety and inexperience, the least you can do to show you appreciate his patience by relaxing your throat and warming his cock properly.

[durzyx]

Cynicism queen

[not-so-blue]

mage gameplay in DRAGON AGE: THE VEILGUARD [x]

mages can also use orb/dagger [x]

[felassan]

Dragon Age: The Veilguard | Official Reveal Trailer - from Xbox Showcase

[source]

Rally the Veilguard and defy the gods in Dragon Age™: The Veilguard, an immersive single player RPG where you become the leader others believe in. When corrupt gods break free from centuries of darkness, the odds will be stacked against you. You can't do this alone. Rally a team of seven companions, each with rich lives and deep backstories. These are characters to befriend, and even fall in love with. Among them, an assassin, a necromancer, and a detective will each bring their own expertise and unique abilities to the fight. You are never alone; decide who to take into battle and together face down demons, dragons and even ancient gods. You’ll fight alongside: Harding: The Scout Neve: The Detective Emmrich: The Necromancer Taash: The Dragon Hunter Davrin: The Warden Bellara: The Veil Jumper Lucanis: The Mage Killer Create memories with your team which will deepen your experiences and give you more to fight for. The world teeters on a knife's edge, but together you have the power to fight back.