#contaminated series

[leftoverenvy]

Contaminated - Part 4

Summary: Emily and JJ's marriage is in shambles, so Emily turns to an unlikely source of comfort: her student.  To add gasoline to the fire, Emily starts an affair.  A songfic inspired by Contaminated by BANKS.

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x OC; Prof! Emily x POC OC; previous Emily Prentiss x Jennifer "JJ" Jareau; previous jemily

Warnings: smut (18+); power dynamic; age gap (unspecified – but all over 18); power imbalance; professor - student; cheating; marital arguing

Word Count: 5k

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Taglist: @ssa-sapphic 🧸; @reidselle 🦭; @gaelic-symphony 🎻 ; @hotchs-bitch 🦆 ; @multiverse-mxdness 🧌 ; @madelineleong

Part 4

The worst thing I had found about being a professor was the fear of running into students out in public.  With one exception in a coffee shop off campus in the dead of winter.  But for the most part, I didn't want to see students out and about – especially at a bar, and especially when I was this depressed.  But I needed a drink and I needed it now.  To mitigate my chances of running into students, I chose a nicer bar in DC, hoping the prices would keep undergrads away.

I settled in at the bar and quickly threw back a shot before settling in with a bottle of wine.  I stared off into space, losing myself in the dark twists and turns of my mind.  Every time I veered into thoughts of JJ, I quickly rerouted myself to safer topics.  It was tedious and exhausting to slip down forbidden trails and then pull myself back repeatedly.  But for as much work as it was to monitor my thoughts, it was much safer than letting my mind roam freely.  I did not have the energy to wonder what JJ was out doing with Will on her latest "work trip."  It probably looked a lot like what I did for Christmas.

All week I imagined warm, brown, innocent eyes staring at me from across a lecture hall.  All week I played her sweet voice in my mind.  It's Liv.  And a much more sultry one, too.  God, Emily, please.  I pinched the skin between my thumb and pointer finger and squeezed my eyes tight.  These thoughts weren't any better. 

I put my head in my hands and begged myself to think about anything else.  But as always, my thoughts returned to her messy curls and soft lips.  It had only been a week since the first day of the semester.  How was I supposed to survive an entire semester with her in my class knowing what she could do in my bed?

I shook myself out of my stupor, focusing my eyes behind the bar on what I had been staring at for the last half hour.  I was glad to see I was staring at the wall rather than a person.  I blinked my eyes into focus a few times and threw back the rest of my now room temperature wine.  When I placed my glass back down on the bar and waved at the bartender for a refill, my eyes settled on the other side of the bar, locking on my favorite dark eyes. 

I cocked my head to the side in confusion.  Slowly, an amused smile teased the corner of my mouth for the first time in a week.  I wondered what she, a young student whom I knew to be under twenty-one, was doing here. 

That first day when I had learned her name, I immediately looked into her school file.  She was nineteen, a true freshman.  And a hell of a student.  She had a 4.0 GPA.  Surely she hadn't been thinking about me too much during class as she had said, because she had one of the highest marks last semester.

Her eyes never left mine.  I gauged her reaction for another beat, wondering if she still had lingering anger from our last encounter.  I saw nothing but mischief and joy in her sparkling eyes.  I jerked my head to the side, indicating her to come to my side of the bar.  She slid out of her chair and sat in the empty one next to me, sliding it even closer. 

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

"Enjoying a drink," she replied with a smirk.

I leaned in close, something in me coming alive again at the proximity.  Whispering in her ear so as not to alert the bartender, "I know for certain you cannot legally do so yet."

"Do you?" she asked, brow raised.  "Do you know that?  If I remember correctly, you didn't even know my name until last week."  She had me there, and her smirk both excited and angered me.  I wished I could push back, wipe that smirk right off her face, but I wasn't sure if she was still mad.

"Regardless," I brushed it off, "You really mean to tell me you're twenty-one?"

"Twenty-two actually," she corrected.  "Alysha Washington is twenty-two."  The mirth overflowing from her eyes was infectious.  I couldn't help but get swept up in the magic of her eyes once again.

"Well Miss Washington," I played along.  If her fake ID worked on a bartender, I certainly wasn't going to argue.  "Can I buy you a drink?"  I held my breath.  This was my olive branch, an apology for lying to her.  An invitation to open this up again.

"No."  My stomach fell inexplicably.  The answer should have been no.  I shouldn't have even tried to indulge in this again.  I shouldn't cheat again.  It wasn't like if you did it once, every time after that stopped counting.  I didn't need to add insult to injury.  I tried to keep my face impassive.  I shouldn't want this – it shouldn't hurt at all.  But it did.  "But," she interrupted my spiral back down the trenches of my own mind, "You can pour me one at your place," she finished smoothly.  And just like that I was wrapped up in it all over again.

"Let's go," I commanded, throwing down $150 for our tabs.  I needed this, needed her.  But this wasn't like last time.  I didn't know if JJ would be home or not, and we couldn't risk it. 

I guided her to my car and whisked us away to a nearby hotel.  She looked at me quizzically when we pulled up.  "I just can't wait to have you," I half-lied.  It would have been just as fast to take her home; I just hoped she didn't realize how close we were to home.

I rushed us inside to get a room.  The woman working the front desk took her sweet time coming from the back office.  I pulled Liv tight against me, my hand roaming up and down her torso, my foot's impatient tapping against the marble floor echoing softly around the lobby.

The woman – Quinn, I thought in distaste – also took her time checking me in.  Clearly she did not see the attractive woman I had next to me.  She asked endless questions and informed us of all the amenities the hotel had to offer.  The only amenity I cared about was the king sized bed.

"Enjoy your stay!" she called cheerfully.  My back was already turned to her, pushing Liv towards the elevators.

She reached forward to press the call button, and I immediately pulled her back into my chest.  I nosed her hair to the side and sucked softly against her neck.  She leaned back against me with a soft sigh and rested her hands over mine. 

The elevator doors slid open with a startling ding.  I pushed her forward by the hips, awkwardly waddling behind her in an attempt to stay as close to her as possible.  She turned around and pressed herself against the wall, pulling against my belt to draw me closer.

After longing to all night – all week – I finally kissed her.  I slid my tongue along her lower lip, and something inside me clicked back into place.  We fell right back into our familiar dance as if we had never stopped.  As if we had been doing this forever.

When the elevator doors slid open again, I no longer gave a damn about decorum.  I stumbled down the hall with my hands untucking her shirt and my lips sucking marks into her skin.

"Unlock the door," she demanded.  That was one command I'd let her give.

Once I waived the keycard over the lock, I shuffled in and let the door slam behind us.  Like breadcrumbs, our clothes made a trail from the door to the bed.  Once we were fully undressed, I pushed her to fall back against the bed and kissed up her torso while I climbed on top of her.  I sucked another mark into her collarbone.  I wanted her to see herself tomorrow – covered in bruises – and remember our night together.  I wanted her to look in the mirror and remember each place my mouth touched her.

"Emily," she sighed.  Her fingers twined in my hair as I circled her nipple with my tongue.  I kissed across her chest to her other boob, licking and sucking all around, but never taking her nipple into my mouth.  "Stop teasing."  That was the last command I'd let her give tonight.

I pulled back, her hands sliding down to rest on my bicep as I hovered over her.  I shifted my weight to one hand as I gripped her chin.  "Let's make one thing clear," I started.  I tried to soften my tone – we hadn't actually been over any rules, I didn't know what she was into.  I assumed she was relatively inexperienced just based on her age.  "I'm in charge here, not you."

Her eyes widened in shock, but she quickly processed it, and her eyes darkened in lust.  "Okay," she whispered.

"Keep your hands right there," I demanded, pinning her wrists above her head.

"Okay," she repeated.

"If you move them, I'll stop," I threatened.

"Stop what?"  I plunged my fingers in her.  "Oh!"

"You gonna be good for me?"  She didn't answer.  "Liv," I prompted.

Her hips were already rocking, urging my fingers deeper in her.  I pulled them half out.  "What?"

I slid down her body.  "Are you gonna be good and keep your hands there?"  I hovered my mouth over her clit, awaiting her answer.  Poor thing clearly didn't multi-task very well.

I flicked my tongue against her clit.  "Yes," she hissed, her back arching.  I wasn't convinced she was answering my question, but I let it slide.

I watched her eyes pinch shut and her fingers grasp the pillows tightly.  Steadily, I pushed my fingers in and out of her, driving her closer and closer to her peak.  "Emily!" she gasped.  "Emily, god!"  Her hands dropped slightly, but still remained above her head.  I curled my fingers up and started sucking.

"Fuck!" she shouted, her hands flying down to keep my head in place.  With one final lick, I pulled back and slid my fingers out.

"No..." she protested.  "Why'd you stop?"  From in between her legs, I quirked an eyebrow at her.   How quickly she had forgotten one rule.

I grabbed her wrists and pinned them at her sides, tight against her hips.  "These stay put."

"I need to touch you," she whined.

"Tough."  And I dove back in.  She'd have to do without my fingers since I needed my hands to keep her hands at her sides.

"Emily, please," she panted, her hands wrapping around my own wrists and squeezing.  Her hips raised higher, pressing harder against my mouth.  "Yes!"

I pushed her wrists back down to the mattress, struggling to keep her compliant with my rules.  Her nails dug into my skin and her thighs closed around my head.  "Don't stop, please!" she begged.  "Please, yes, yes!"  I was thrilled she was being more vocal tonight. 

I let go of one wrist and slid two fingers inside her.  I hoped she didn't make me regret it.  I wouldn't hesitate to stop – even this close to her climax – if she touched me again.  I watched her dig her nails into the skin of her thigh, silently proud of her for following rules this early into our sexual relationship.

"Fuck!" she keened again, and then she stopped breathing.  I was glad to see that didn't change from last time.  I found it oddly endearing that she stopped breathing while she came.  Of all the women I had been with, I had never met anyone else who did that like Liv.

She gasped and slumped into the bed.  "Fuck, Emily," she sighed.  "I missed that."

I beamed internally.  I didn't want her to know how affected I was by her, but such a simple statement flipped my stomach.  "I missed this too," I responded, kissing her pubic bone softly. 

I continued placing soft kisses against her thighs and hips while she caught her breath.  After a few moments, when I was satisfied that she was ready, I sat up on my knees and pulled her down the bed.

Startled by my abrupt movement, she asked, "What are you doing?"

"You don't think you're the only one who wants to get off, do you?"  I crawled up her body and swung a leg over her head.  She moaned loudly and wrapped her hands over my thighs.  "You ready?"  She responded by pulling me down to her face.

I sighed at the contact.  It had been months since JJ and I had had sex, and Liv and I argued before she could return the favor last time.  I let Liv do what she wanted at first, letting her get used to going down on a woman.  Based on her technique, I was right before that she was inexperienced.  But she still felt good.

I wiggled my hips down to get a better angle and gasped, "Oh."  I leaned forward to grab the headboard for leverage, my hips grinding down into her involuntarily.  I didn't know if I had a tenuous grasp on my control because it was Liv or if it had just been too long since I had had sex, but I could not stop my hips from rocking against her mouth.  "Yes, baby," I cooed.  "You're doing so good.  Just like that."

Naively, she sped up, her tongue flicking frantically against my clit now.  I sighed in disappointment; I had been so close.  "Slow down, baby," I corrected gently.  I didn't want to discourage her, but I needed to cum.  She slowed back down, licking me hard and slow.  "Fuck," I panted, "Yes, Liv."

I circled my hips until I found that perfect angle again.  "Fuck baby," I praised, "You feel so good." 

Liv was a fast learner.  She didn't speed up again; she kept this perfect, sinful rhythm.  I started rocking my hips again, so close to the edge.  "Olivia," I panted.  "YES!" I shouted, throwing my head back as I climaxed.  I peeled my fingers from the headboard, flexing them to release some of the stiffness in the joints from gripping so hard.

I climbed off of her and laid next to her, pulling her close.  Her eyes gleamed with pride while her chin gleamed with my slick.  I wiped at her chin while I leaned in for a sloppy, wet kiss.  She couldn't kiss me back because she kept smiling.  I guessed that meant I was completely forgiven.   I hoped it did, anyway.

_ _ _

I didn't know if anything changed for Liv, but she kept seeing me.  For weeks, I suffered through lectures watching her burn holes in me with her heady, lustful eyes.  We stole kisses in office hours and continued our sordid affair back at mine when JJ was gone.  Over the next few weeks, I made Liv mine.  She was the perfect distraction. 

When JJ did come home, we always fought.  When I had first started seeing Liv, JJ and I were often cold towards each other.  But with each passing week, our fights were nasty, explosive.  We could never seem to have a normal conversation about how JJ's cases were or how my classes were going.  We'd go to bed fuming, both of us sighing haughtily and flipping over as passive aggressively as we could as if it were a hardship to lay next to our spouse.  When I laid with JJ, I counted down the minutes until I could see Liv.  When I had Liv, I counted down the minutes until I could have her again.

For weeks, JJ and I argued so loudly, my voice would often be hoarse the following day.  I often wondered if Liv knew on the days when I could barely lecture that I had spent the previous night shouting at JJ.  But like a rocket, as quickly as our fights screamed to life, they fizzled out into silence.  I guessed we had exhausted every topic to fight about; we had left no stone unturned. 

I'm not sure what prompted the end of our fighting, but JJ and I lived like mute roommates, occasionally passing by each other, never saying a word.  Every now and then I'd see a new dish in the sink or see the blanket ruffled in the guest bedroom.  I was thankful for the calm.  I didn't know how much longer I could keep fighting with JJ like that. 

But every screaming match had amped me up.  I'd be so angry, so keyed up, I'd immediately go pick up Liv from her dorm.  Every few nights, I'd text her "I'm on my way," and fifteen minutes later, she'd be waiting for me at the curb, slipping into my car with a soft, "Hi."  She seemed to settle into our routine nicely.  Never once did she question anything.  Never once did she question me.

_ _ _

My tires screeched as I abruptly came to a stop in front of Reynolds Hall.  She quickly opened the door and slid in the car.  "Hi," she greeted sweetly, as she always did.

"Hi, Liv," I responded, my own sour mood immediately changing just being in her presence.

"Where to?"

"Did you finish your history paper?"  I wanted to double-check before I kidnapped her for a good chunk of the night.  It was already 10:37.

"Yes, this afternoon!  And what a relief," she sighed.

"Let me show you this place out in the country, then."

"Whatever you want." 

And off we went.  I sped south to get further out of the city.  I wanted to stargaze with Olivia.  I wanted to lay under the vast sky to remind myself how little my troubles meant in the grand scheme, how little I meant.

It was rare for me to be so quiet with her, but she never pressed me to talk.  It was one of the things I liked best about her when I got in these moods.  She was perfectly content to just sit in the car with me and listen to music.

When we arrived, I parked and killed the lights.  "Where are we?" she asked, looking around.

"I want to show you something."  I got out of the car and moved around to the front to wait for Liv to get out as well.

She stood in front of me and smiled wryly.  "Okay, Emily.  Ready for my socks to be blown off."

I chuckled involuntarily.  I didn't want to be in a good mood, but I couldn't help it around her.  "Look up, smart ass."

She narrowed her eyes at me in faux-exasperation and then lifted her face to the sky.  "Wow," she exclaimed, astonished. 

"Out here, there's no light pollution.  Every star is visible.  I like to come out here to think sometimes."

"About what?" she asked still looking at the night sky.

"Life, I guess," I evaded.

She snapped her head down.  "What's wrong?" she asked scrutinizing my face.

"Nothing," I lied.  "I just wanted to kiss a pretty girl under the stars."  She tried to hide her grin by tilting her head back to the stars, but I could see it.  She couldn't fool me. 

I sat on the hood of the car and slid back towards the windshield.  I spread my legs open for Liv, and said, "Come here."

She turned around and tentatively climbed on the hood.  "Are you sure this is okay?  I wouldn't want to scratch the paint or anything." 

I rolled my eyes.  "Yes, I'm sure it's okay."  She settled back against me, and I wrapped my arms around her. 

"It's gorgeous," she whispered, still in awe.

She leaned against me while I leaned against the windshield, and I rubbed my hands up and down her arms while we stared at the twinkling stars.  We were even lucky enough to see a shooting star.  I wondered if she was still young enough to believe in wishing on a shooting star.  And then I wondered what it was a girl like Olivia would wish for.  I'd wish to not break her heart.  If I believed in that sort of thing.

I leaned down to nibble on her ear lobe.  I came here to lose myself in the cosmos, but Liv would do just fine, too.  "Mmmm," she moaned, tilting her head to the side.  She shivered, goosebumps raising on her arms.

"Cold?"

"A little," she admitted.

"Let me warm you up in the car."

_ _ _

As it turns out, I didn't need a screaming match with JJ to want Liv.  JJ's new ambivalence towards me never failed to push me into Liv's arms.  I had feared that when JJ and I's fights became less tempestuous, I'd no longer want to see Liv, but I always wanted Liv.  As the weeks passed, it didn't matter what JJ did or didn't do; I saw Liv no matter what.  I started to get creative in where and how I could see her, but it was getting tiresome to play this game.

JJ had slowly moved out of our bedroom, electing to sleep in the guest bedroom when she was home.  And then, luckily, she just stopped coming home altogether.  She would send a lame excuse in a text message as an afterthought, and eventually I stopped bothering to read them.  JJ hadn't been home in over three weeks now, and I had no idea if she planned to come home any time soon.  I had no idea what she was doing about clothes, but I didn't care.  I liked the freedom to fuck Liv as loud and as long as I wanted in my own bed.  We didn't have to hide at home.

_ _ _

It was fun playing pretend again.  It was comforting to pretend Liv and I cared for each other.  It was welcome warmth from JJ and I's frosty stand off.  But somewhere along the way, our playing pretend turned into something more for Liv.  And I genuinely wasn't sure if it was starting to mean more to me either.

Our first nights together were solely physical.  We hardly talked.  I fucked her until she was so tired she couldn't help but fall asleep.  It avoided all awkward post-sex conversations.  But over time, those conversations became less awkward.  I grew to like tangling our limbs together and chatting about nothing while I rubbed her back.  I loved hearing about her classes while she traced secrets into my skin.

"Want to hear the latest gossip of a small sect of the Class of 2026?"

I chuckled, delighted as always by her trivial social dramas.  I liked the distraction; it made me long for those simple times.  "Hit me with it."

"Kara and TJ broke up again."

"Oh wow," I said pensively.  I wondered what it would be like to have a relationship, break up, and then get back together two or three times within a month.  I had honestly lost track of how many times Liv's friends had broken up and gotten back together.  It felt hypocritical to be so judgmental of these children's relationship when mine was as stable as a boulder on a precipice, but it made me feel better to hear about Liv's friends' drama.

She prattled on about Kara, and I tuned her out.  I had heard one of Kara and TJ's break-up stories, I had heard them all.  I knew this relationship trope; I had seen it countless times with unsubs.  I'd have to subtly warn Liv to be cautious around him. 

"And of course," she continued babbling like what she was about to say was old hat, "Everyone knows about the hot gossip that a sociology professor is fucking one of her students."

I choked on nothing.

"Excuse me?" I wheezed.

"I'm kidding," she snickered.  My pounding heart started to slow.  She continued, a little put out now, "I didn't think you were listening."

"I'm listening," I lied.  I kissed her on the forehead and squeezed her a little tighter.  "I promise, baby."

She hiked her leg up higher over my hips, pulling herself closer.  Her hand smoothed up my abdomen, and she placed a kiss against my neck.  I pulled her closer and kissed the top of her head again.  This seemed to be what she enjoyed most, this intimacy. 

We laid in silence and peace for several minutes, just breathing the other in.  Liv's silence never felt mean; it felt welcoming, comfortable.  I never minded being silent with her in the middle of the night like I did with JJ.

"Whisper sweet things to me," she said timidly, seemingly afraid to disturb our moment. 

Did she want me to lie?  I pulled back to look into her eyes, to assess what it was she really wanted.  I saw nothing but vulnerability and a touch of fear.

"You look so pretty like this," I started.  I smoothed her wild hair from her face and pulled her face up so I could look at her more fully.  "You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, Olivia.   Every time I get to be with you like this I thank whatever's out there for putting you in my class."  I kissed her softly and swiped my thumb over her jaw.  "I want to be with you like this forever."

It all felt forced since she had asked to hear it.  My hint at forever caught in my throat.  Hadn't I already promised someone my forever? 

She looked appeased for a moment, happiness – and I was shocked to see what I thought might be love – shining in those deep eyes.  A grin stretched across her face, her eyes twinkling in the night.  But like a candle, the flame slowly extinguished, reality settling in after a beat or two.  As my words sunk in, as they hung in the air between us, she remembered what this was.

I was still married.  I was still her professor.  The first time excluded, I had been upfront about all of this.  She knew what this was – she was inviting the pain.  She was choosing to break her own heart here, and still she chose to stay.

It was small comfort, and not entirely truthful.  It was on me to not have taken us down this path again.  I was the one with aged wisdom – I was the one with all the power here.  If I were a better woman, I'd call it off now.  But I was weak.  And I was here with her for the hundredth time.

"Be with me," she blurted on a gasp.  My jaw dropped in shock.  She rendered me speechless again.  I had no clue how to respond.  "I know we can be special," she pressed.  "I know we can be more than this!"

"Liv..." I thought we were on the same page about this.  I thought she understood.

"Please," she begged.  Apparently not.

"It's against school policy – I could be fired!"  It was a lame excuse.  Fucking her was also against school policy, and I didn't seem to have a problem doing that.  I could tell that argument did nothing to convince her either.  "I'm married." 

She quickly sat up – sheets pressed to her chest in modesty – a hand raised to stop me.  "You don't need to remind me of that," she spat.

"What would people say?"

"You never struck me as someone who gave a shit about that," she pointed out sharply.

Her words hit me over the head, throwing me off balance.  Because she was right.  Already, she could read me so well.  Already, I had shared more of myself with her than I had in over a year with JJ, my own wife.  I let her words sink in, the weight of this affair pressing down on me.  I wasn't just ruining JJ and I's lives here.  Liv was in this, too.

"I need more than this, Em," she whispered.  The use of my nickname felt startling now.  We were supposed to have a professional relationship.  She shouldn't be calling me Em – we shouldn't be here at all.

"I can't give you more."

My words hung heavy between us.  I reached to pull her back to me.  "I've gotta go," she blurted suddenly and slid out of bed.

"Okay," I said resigned.  I couldn't fight it because this was dangerous, prohibited.  She should leave.  It was better for both of us.

She slipped her shirt over her head, and buttoned her jeans.  She grabbed her shoes and paused, likely waiting for my protest.  She'd never get one.  She sighed heavily and turned her back to me, walking out my door again.  I closed my eyes and threw an arm over my eyes.

I had no idea where Liv and I stood, but I needed her body.  Release with her was the only thing keeping me sane.  Liv was the only thing that made life tolerable right now.  I'd have to apologize.  I'd say whatever I could to get her back in bed because I needed her.  Everything in my life was unstable, shaking from the weight of my poor decisions.  Liv was the only firm fixture.  Had been, I corrected myself.  Her support had been mine for several weeks now – I never thought I'd lose it like this.

_ _ _

Continue to next part

[xelidonia]

Here it is: The Venn diagram of the comparison that made me get into TMA!

Spoilers for ALL of the Magnus Archives:

I tried to stick to canon facts, but it's hard for a character as based in fanon as Watcher Grian. Originally, I assumed the reason they were so similar was that the Archivist was just so popular on Tumblr that bits of his storyline made their way into Watcher Grian fanon... but actually, the EVO finale took place nearly a year before MAG 160, though 3rd Life began after TMA ended. It really does seem to be parallel evolution (no pun intended.)

[synchodai]

My post about "girlboss eugenics" has reached 10k+ notes, and while i understand i can't control how people take a post once it's escaped containment and will ultimately interpret it to fit their personal blog and tastes, i can't help but resent that a good chunk of reblogs have completely ignored that i was complaining about the trope promoting eugenics. Instead, it's been read to be about chosen one narratives in general which oftentimes aren't about eugenics at all.

Just to be clear, chosen one narratives are not inherently eugenicist! ATLA is a chosen one narrative and explicitly anti-eugenics. The main character being special because she's secretly related to a special person is not eugenics! The Last Skywalker is not eugenicist and its core message that Rey can reject her Palpatine side and choose to be a Skywalker actively goes against bioessentialism. Eugenics isn't when a character is born special because of blood ties, genetic inheritance, or just being magically chosen.

Eugenics is actively breeding people to promote "desireable" traits and neutering, disenfranchising, or even just outright killing those with "undesireable" traits so they won't "pollute" the gene pool. Eugenics is the numerous amount of times I've heard someone casually saying "dumb people shouldn't breed." Eugenics is using genetic disability and illness as a narrative shorthand to convey that a character is twisted and evil, and that the kindest fate for such a "wretched creature" is death. Eugenics is a character saying she never wants to have children so she won't pass on her curse, dwarfism, or whatever else it is to her offspring and being lauded by the story for making the right, selfless choice. Eugenics is calculating how much percent race X character is compared to Y character and using them being more Valyrian/Illyrian/whatever race to justify why X is the better ruler instead of Y.

I get that some people are tired of biological and divine determinism and just want to see characters reject that and carve out their own path, but chosen one and secret princess tropes by themselves are hardly as deleterious as what I noticed in the recently published books I read that have this obsession with breeding. It's English royal family fanatic level of obsession over maintaining the continuation of a bloodline and calculating who's even distantly related to who to justify who gets to receive fame and wealth for basically just existing. It's glorifying a woman's womb and her pregnancy as something absolutely necessary for the continuation of a good and civil society. THAT is what I find absolutely horrific in what's supposed to be my escapist, meant to empower women readers, fantasy fiction.

[pet-cemetery-emotes]

Rot, rotted, rotten, and rotting wordmoji!

[wizardnuke]

does anyone know if we have to roll that rock up the hill again tomorrow

[silverraes]

see my bio profs would've bitten his head of for a) having his phone in his workspace and b) picking up said phone with his gloves still on

[the-hidden-levels]

Page 1

It's the beginning. | Next

[poisonedpowder]

Sevika: The sister.... she's back.

Silco, dramatically shuts his compact and twirls his chair around: froM the deAD???

[handbagman]

there is so much needed context to this but im posting it anyways

[diabelskoga]

A little headcanon, but Sanji does not smoke while in the process of cooking/preparing meals. He either smokes afterwards or at the beginning before cooking/baking/preparing meals. He would prefer to avoid any kind of ash that could get into the food, etc. No matter what, trust is put into your cooks. Sanji will not break that trust at all. He cares for what he creates. Plus sometimes certain foods ( depending on what he's making ) may need to simmer at a certain time, so Sanji can always pop out of the galley and take a quick smoke break there too!

[leftoverenvy]

Contaminated - Part 3

Summary: Emily and JJ's marriage is in shambles, so Emily turns to an unlikely source of comfort: her student.  To add gasoline to the fire, Emily starts an affair.  A songfic inspired by Contaminated by BANKS.

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x OC; Prof! Emily x POC OC; previous Emily Prentiss x Jennifer "JJ" Jareau; previous jemily

Warnings: smut (18+); power dynamic; age gap (unspecified – but all over 18); power imbalance; professor - student; cheating; marital arguing

Word Count: 4.5k

Tumblr Masterlist | Wattpad

Taglist: @ssa-sapphic 🧸; @reidselle 🦭; @gaelic-symphony 🎻 ; @hotchs-bitch 🦆 ; @multiverse-mxdness 🧌 ; @madelineleong

Part 3

I shuffled us inside to get out of the cold.  As she brushed past me, her perfume washed over me, and I inhaled deeply.  I was intoxicated by her very presence – her sweet scent was not helping.  I heard her soft gasp as we walked through the foyer.  I looked up to watch her gape at the Christmas tree.

"It's gorgeous," she complimented in awe.  She stopped in her tracks to admire the lights and ornaments.  "It's decorated so beautifully."  I bristled.  I couldn't help but think it a hideous symbolization of my wife's absence.  At the reminder of my wife, I surreptitiously removed my wedding band and slid it in my pocket.  My stomach turned at my action, yet I did nothing to correct it.  The guilt boiling in my stomach wasn't enough to make me put it back on.

"Come on," I coaxed her away from the tree.  "Let's warm up some milk for cocoa."  I tugged on her arm to drag her to the kitchen.

I moved towards the fridge and asked, "How hot do you like it?"

"Huh?" she asked, a bit breathless.  I was pleased to see her eyes darkening with what looked like lust.

I smirked at the innuendo.  "Your milk."

"Oh uhm," she bit her lip, "I'm not picky."

"Noted."  I winked and turned back to grab some milk.  She chuckled nervously behind me.  I splashed some milk in a mug and threw it in the microwave, splashing it over the sides.  I couldn't care less about the milk or the mess.  I didn't bring her here for cocoa.

I felt like a predator closing in on its prey.  I stepped closer, her scent overtaking my senses once again.  She was like a drug – one hit wasn't enough.  My hand caressed her hip, looping a finger in her belt loop to tug her closer.  Her hips connected with mine and I stepped further into her space, trapping her between my body and the counter.  Her soft, surprised exhale washed over my lips.  I touched my nose to hers, my own lips parting in anticipation. 

Her head tilted back; her full, bottom lip just barely brushed mine.  I warred with myself for the last time.  Her hip felt so good curved against the palm of my hand.  The breath from her soft pants tasted so sweet.  But I wasn't free to be with her like this.  How had JJ so easily thrown away our marriage?  Had she ever felt this guilt when she fucked someone else?  Could I tuck my own guilt away long enough to follow through with this?

Her lips connected with mine, and I knew.  Yes, yes I could tuck it away.  Her hum buzzed against my lips, tickling them slightly.  I squeezed her hip as I pressed her further into the counter.  "Is this okay?" I whispered against her lips.

She pulled away breathlessly.  "I thought about this every day in class," she admitted shamelessly.  As I pushed my tongue in her mouth, I idly wondered what her final grade in the class was if she had really been so distracted.  I realized I would have no way of looking it up later because I never bothered to learn her name. 

My stomach flipped pleasantly at the danger of this situation.  She wasn't mine to have; she was forbidden fruit.  And here I was, stealing a taste of her sweet innocence anyway.  I had complete control over her.  The power rushed to my head.  It was dizzying – it was addictive.

I nipped harshly at her bottom lip.  "What did you think about?"  I needed to know more.  I needed to hear exactly how much she wanted me.  To give her the chance to respond, I trailed my lips down her jaw line, sucking slightly at the hollow where her jaw met her neck.

She inhaled sharply and then sighed.  I continued down her neck, my tongue snaking out to taste every inch of her that I could.  Her gentle moan vibrated her throat beneath my lips.  I scraped my teeth up her neck and pulled her ear lobe between my lips.  "This," she gasped.  "I thought about this," she panted as her fingers tangled in my hair.

My thumb continued to rub back and forth across her hip bone as I sucked the skin of her neck.  I cupped her jaw and pulled her mouth back to mine.  My hand creeped under her shirt, and I was shocked by how smooth her skin was.  My fingertips had a mind of their own.  All they could focus on was feeling more of her impossibly soft skin. 

"Come upstairs with me," I demanded.

She looked up at me with wide eyes, and I lost myself in their warm depths.  I could see galaxies in her eyes, a possibility of traversing forbidden paths.  I was past the point of no return, past the point of penance for this unforgivable transgression.  She nodded stiffly, her bottom lip once again between her teeth.  I pressed my thumb against it softly and tugged it free.  I kissed her softly to ease the sting from her nervous habit and pulled her forward to guide us upstairs.

We stumbled our way up the stairs, more than once toppling into the wall.  Neither of us could be bothered to look where we were going.  My focus was entirely on getting her naked and underneath me.  My brain, so dazed from lust, only half-registered the irony from me crashing into JJ and I's family portrait while taking another woman to bed.

Once upstairs, I pushed her into the threshold of my bedroom, sucking harshly at her neck.  She'd definitely have a mark on her skin.  I smirked against her neck.  I wasn't hers, but she would be – at least temporarily – marked as mine.  In this moment, she was mine.

I ripped her shirt over her head and pushed her back on top of the bed.  I slid between her legs and licked a long trail up her stomach, stopping at her bra.  I slid my hands underneath her and unhooked it, burying my face between her tits.  I nipped at the swells of her boobs, her legs wrapping around my waist to keep me where I was.  "Professor, please," she gasped. 

I chuckled softly against her skin; I couldn't help it.  "We can play like that later," I husked.  Roleplaying our exact situation could be quite interesting.  I wanted to fuck her as the innocent, virginal freshman.  That stereotype had never interested me before, but I was intrigued.  Just not for right now.  "Please call me Emily."

"Emily," she repeated as if to try out how it sounded.  I sucked on her nipple, flicking my tongue over it.  "Jesus!"

I trailed my hands down to the button of her jeans.  "Can I take these off?" I asked. 

"Yes," she panted as my tongue continued to lick any part of her I could.  "Hurry," she panted.  I smirked again.  She was very eager for me.

I unbuttoned her pants and slid down her body, loosening the death grip her legs had on me.  I peeled her sinfully tight jeans down her legs, revealing even softer skin and muscular thighs I couldn't wait to bite.  Feather light, I ghosted my fingertips up and down her thighs.  She was gorgeous.  I wanted to suffocate myself between her thighs.

She squirmed underneath me, bucking her hips in an attempt to get some relief.  I loved when women were so desperate for me they couldn't help but buck up into nothing.  I needed to hear her soft whines for me – she was too quiet.  Her muted pants, though hot, were not enough for me.

"How do you want me?" I whispered against her thighs.  I bit at her softly and then sucked to soothe the sting.  I slid my fingertips higher, barely touching her at the juncture where her thighs met her hips.

She exhaled sharply and then inhaled shakily.  "I don't care."

"No preference?" I confirmed in a teasing tone, my fingers inching to her center.  "My choice?"

"I told you," she joked, "I'm not picky."  I chuckled, my mouth moving closer to her center, my breath teasing her.  "As long as it's soon," she clarified, her hips bucking up again.

I snaked a hand around her hips to hold her still and licked slowly up her slit.  She moaned long and loud at the contact.  I grinned against her, relishing in her noises.  I needed her as loud as possible.

I lapped at her relentlessly just to hear her whine for me.  "God, Emily.  Please," she begged.  Her hips strained against my arm, trying to lift up to push harder against my tongue.  She could have it harder when I was ready to give it to her harder.  "I need more," she whined, "Please."

I pulled back and flipped her on her stomach.  My hand came down hard against her ass, the slap loud in the silent room.  I started at my action; I hadn't asked her if this was okay with her beforehand.  There was a lot I hadn't asked her beforehand.  Her loud groan assuaged any worry about whether this was okay with her.

Her hips pressed into the mattress at the sting.  That was a pretty hard spank for the first one; I didn't doubt her skin was stinging.  But that was no excuse for her to press her hips down.  I pulled her hips up to get her ass up in the air.  "You need more?" I teased.  I spanked her again, her sharp hiss muffled from the thick comforter bunched up around her face.  "You can have more when I say you can."

"Fuck," she muttered.  "Please fuck me," she begged.  And who was I to deny such a good girl?  I slammed my fingers into her.  Her fingers twisted into the comforter below her, pulling it up further around her face.  She rocked her hips back to get me deeper.  She was quite demanding.

I pushed into her hard and fast, setting a relentless pace.  So wet, I salivated at the sucking sounds her pussy made around my fingers.  Though she had been quiet before, she wasn't now.  She started babbling incoherently, begging and pleading for me to push her to the edge.

"I'm so close, Emi- FUCK!"  I felt her walls tighten deliciously around my fingers as I curled them slightly.  I scratched my nails down her spine to stimulate her even further.  "God, please!"  I wrapped my free hand around her body to circle her clit.  Her loud moans rose in pitch, transforming into a shrill keen.  "Yes, yes yes," she chanted in time with her rocking hips.

Her panting and whines stopped.  I think she stopped breathing.  I was worried she passed out, but her hips continued to rock against my hand, so I didn't stop thrusting into her.  And then she whined one last soft whimper and slumped against the bed.  Gradually slowing my fingers to a stop, I helped her down from her high.  But her reprieve would be brief; I was not done with her.

I slipped my fingers out from inside her, eliciting a soft sigh from her, and slipped them into my mouth to savor her again.  My brief taste earlier was far too short.  I wanted to feast on her.

I helped her lay back on the pillows – I wanted her comfortable for how long I was about to go down on her.  I spread her legs as wide as they'd go and kissed up her left thigh.  "Oh!" she gasped in surprise.  "Emily, I-"  She struggled to catch her breath.  "I've never been able to cum twice this fast in a row."

"Shall we try anyway?"  I spread her labia with two fingers and gently lapped at her, spreading her wetness around with my tongue.  An involuntary moan escaped low from my throat.  I wanted to remain unaffected, but she was like nothing I had ever had before.  She was the sweetest distraction from my abysmal life.

She softly gathered up my hair from around my face and held it on top of my head.  I appreciated her keeping my hair from falling into my mouth.  Not that anything would stop me now. 

I lapped lazily at her clit.  I was eating her out for my own pleasure, not hers.  After a while she groaned, "Oh my god you feel good."  I sucked on her clit, and she hissed, pulling my hair tight in her grip.  I moaned at the slight sting, vibrating her clit between my lips.  "Oh fuck.  Don't stop."  I hummed against her clit, hoping I could get her to cum again even though she was convinced she wouldn't be able to.  My ego was practically purring. 

"Emily, Emily," she chanted again, her hips rocking harder against my mouth.  Without breaking tempo, I slipped two fingers in her.  She continued her chanting, her grip growing even tighter.  She was going to rip my hair out at this point, but I didn't dare stop to remove her hands.  Nothing would make me break this rhythm.

Like before, she stopped breathing, but this time, I could see her once-heaving chest fall still.  Her muscles tensed up tighter and tighter.  She looked like a coil ready to snap.  And then she threw her head back and whined louder than before. 

She slumped against the bed, huffing to catch her breath.  I slid my fingers out of her and licked them clean.  I lifted up and kissed her sweet skin, planting my lips to her hip bones, belly, and up her sternum.  I nuzzled her neck as I flopped next to her.

She turned into me, placing her own sloppy kiss against my neck.  "Thank you," she said on a heavy exhale.  "I don't think I've ever cum that hard twice in a row."  Her breath tickled my neck.  I hooked her leg up over my hip and rubbed my fingers over her skin.  She really was unbearably soft – I couldn't get enough of touching her.

We stared at each in silence.  My fingers continued ghosting over the lines of her thighs and the swell of her hip.  She was beautiful.  She had the kind of body sculptors wept over.  I smoothed my hand up and down her body as if I could shape such grace. 

I softly kissed her shoulder, breathing in her scent.  I had to memorize everything I could about this afternoon.  I'd never have anything like this again. 

And just like that, my guilt crashed into me harder than before.  I choked on its power; I thought I might be sick.  What had I done?  Had I really just destroyed my marriage for one fuck?  And it would be just once, I assured myself.  A mistake never to be repeated.  It meant nothing, and I'd kick her out as soon as possible. 

But then her small hand snaked down to unclasp my own jeans and my guilt fell by the wayside. Fuck it, I might as well make it really good.  I idly wondered what she thought about me still being fully clothed.  I had been too lost in her to take my own clothes off. 

She helped me pull my shirt over my head, my belt buckle digging into me as I scrunched up to get my shirt off but stay as close to her as possible.  My hands got stuck in the sleeves as I rushed to get naked.

"What's that?" she asked suddenly, her tone icy.  "Or should I say, who's that?"  I finally got my shirt off and turned my head to follow her line of sight, though I already knew what she had seen. 

Dread filled my stomach worse than the guilt had earlier.  I had taken steps to hide my wedding ring from her, but I couldn't erase JJ from her own home.  "That's my wife," I admitted.

At her look of devastation, I flopped back against the bed and placed a hand over my eyes.  This isn't how I wanted things to go.

"Don't you think that's important information for me to have before we fuck?" she spat out.

"Doesn't matter," I said dryly.  I turned my head to look her in the eye, anger blazing bright in her dark irises.

"'Doesn't matter?'" she repeated incredulously.

"It was just a one-time thing anyway."  The words tasted bitter coming out.  I had thought about her for weeks now.  I had tossed my marriage out the window for her.  Not that it was great before, but-

"Right," she said harshly, "Because you're married.  And we just had sex.  In your wife's bed."  The last bit, muttered more to herself, came out as a realization.  "Oh god."  She shot off the bed and started gathering the clothes I had tossed around my room.  Frantic, as if she would burn on the spot for being naked, she pulled clothes on haphazardly.

"Wait," I called as she moved towards the door.  "It isn't what you think."  I winced at the cliché coming out of my mouth.  What could I possibly say to make this better?  We were never going to work out.  It was better to end it now. 

I tried again, "It's complicated."  That wasn't satisfactory, either, but it really was complicated.  JJ had already ruined our marriage.  I just put the cherry on top.  But no matter how badly JJ and I fucked up, this girl didn't deserve this.  She didn't deserve to be poisoned by our treachery.

"Really Emily?  'It's complicated?'"  I wished she would stop repeating what I said.

"Yes," I whispered.

"Are you married?"

"Yes."

"Then it isn't complicated at all.  Have a nice life."  And she turned on her heel and clomped down the stairs.  I thought I saw a glint of wetness on her face as she turned, but before I could scrutinize her face, she was gone.

_ _ _

The end of my holiday break mirrored its start.  I spent my last free days sitting in front of the Christmas tree, glaring at all it represented.  Only now, it served as another reminder: one of my infidelity.  And just like before, I continued to obsessively think about my student.  It seemed sleeping with her did nothing to erase my infatuation.  For now, I knew what I was missing.  I knew how soft she was; I knew how good she smelled.  How good she sounded underneath me.

Without blinking, I stared at the countless, tiny bulbs shining brightly in our foyer.  Refusing to blink, I burned my retinas staring into the flickering strings of lights.  It had to go.

I pushed off the couch and made my way to the garage, quickly locating all the empty boxes that housed the Christmas decorations during the off season.  I lugged them inside and pushed them all to the foyer.  I didn't bother being careful putting them away.  JJ had individual bubble wrap pockets for each ornament.  She had a complicated system for wrapping the tinsel and lights.  But I didn't care.  I needed this tree out of here.  I needed this holiday over.

I dumped them all in the box, placing the garland around the box as if that would protect the ornaments from the inevitable jostling they'd receive when I put the box back in the attic.  As I sealed the last box, it was like I had packed my indiscretion with the colorful balls and lights.  I could lock this away.  JJ didn't have to know.  No one would know but myself and her.

I tried my best to push her from my thoughts.  But she was like an invasive plant, creeping into every empty crevice of my mind.  She had wrapped herself around me.  Fucking her was supposed to make this go away.  A one-night stand was supposed to be just that: for one night.  I wasn't supposed to crave her presence; I was supposed to crave my wife's. 

But for the last two weeks of my vacation, all I could think about was how she tasted, and whether I could see her again.  Would I see her around campus?  Would I see her at our shared café?  I tried to focus on the upcoming semester, but I was useless.  I stopped even pretending to work.  That is, until JJ came home.

"Em?" I rolled my eyes at her false, saccharine voice.  I declined to respond, choosing instead to focus on the syllabus in front of me.  I quickly slid my AirPods in my ears for plausible deniability that I didn't hear her call out for me.

She poked her head into my office, and I sighed.  So much for ignoring her.

I pulled the headphones from my ears.  "Hi Jayje."

She sat in the chair in front of my desk.  The tension grew in our silence.  We stared at each other awkwardly.  Normally, I'd break the stifling silence, but I had no energy to do so this time.  "I had a great trip, thanks for asking," she said sarcastically.

I dropped my head to my hands, a headache already forming at the argument I knew was coming.  Was she really bragging about how good she got it from someone else?

"Can we not fight as soon as you walk in the door?"  My voice sounded so weary.  Usually, I felt like this after a long fight, not before one had even started.

"Fine," she ceded, her hands up.

"I'm tired," I lied.  "Let's just go to bed."

"I have to unpack."

"Fine."

We trudged up the stairs, up to the scene of the crime.  JJ had no idea what had occurred here just over a week ago.  I refused to look at her.  I could hardly stand to be in this room with her.

"What is with you?" JJ asked incredulously.  I still couldn't muster the energy to care to fight with her.  "I thought you'd be more excited for me to come home."

Bile rose in the back of my throat as I sat on the edge of the bed.  I looked down at my hands, the glint of gold catching my eye.  My wedding ring tightened around my finger like a noose around my neck.  This ring, once a tangible symbol of our most sacred promise, was nothing more than cold metal.  It meant nothing anymore.  We both had abandoned our promises to each other.

I flopped back against the bed, the down comforter engulfing me.  And though I had changed the sheets, though I had slept in this bed for the last two weeks, I still smelled her.  I flopped an arm over my eyes as if it would dam the flood of images of what I had been doing in this bed just two weeks prior.

"Emily!" JJ interrupted my reverie.  "Are you even listening to me?"  No.

"JJ, can we just talk about this tomorrow?"  I had no idea what I was even asking to put off.  All I knew was I didn't have the energy to deal with my own guilt and JJ's irritation.

"We haven't even talked about anything tonight," she pointed out.  She sighed heavily at my silence.  "Yeah.  Sure," she snapped.  "Whatever you want, Emily."  I rolled my eyes behind the arm covering my face.

I turned my back to her while she continued to unpack and get ready for bed.  I feigned sleep for hours, grateful that she didn't try to touch me.  I wouldn't have been able to stomach cuddling my wife in the same bed in which I had betrayed her.

_ _ _

I welcomed the first day of the spring semester like an old friend.  It promised distraction and excuses to be absent from home.  Winter still hung heavy in the air, its chill reminding me of that freezing December day when I threw my marriage away. 

Since returning from her holiday trip, JJ had stayed home for the longest stretch since what I guessed was the start of her own affair.  I was amused by the irony of once begging for her to come home, and now wanting nothing more than for her to leave again.  Her presence only exacerbated my guilt.

I had once appreciated all the time off that accompanied being a professor.  And now, I was never more grateful for the start of a semester.  And to sweeten the deal, this semester, I had no intro classes. 

The department head had taken a last-minute sabbatical and asked me to take over his profiling course.  I happily agreed, thankful to share my knowledge with the next generation of profilers.  I vowed to make this a good semester.  I'd throw myself into being a professor, being devoted to my students.  If I couldn't be a good wife, I could at least be a good professor.

I briskly walked into the lecture hall, hoping my quick walk would silence the classroom before I had to raise my voice to start class.

"Good morning," I greeted once I made it to the front of the room.  "I'm Professor Prentiss.  I know there are about seventy-five of you, but I'm hopeful I will know all of your names in a couple weeks."  I wanted to forge connections with students in higher level classes.  Hopefully next year I would have these students again in more advanced courses.

"I'm going to call roll-" a few students groaned.  "I know, I know," I commiserated with them.  "But I promise I won't make you go around the room and say a lame fact about yourself as an icebreaker."  That got a round of chuckles, and I smiled softly at being off to a good start with this new class.  "I want to start putting faces with names, so please wave at me when I call your name."

I took a deep breath and then dove in, starting with Sarah Arrington.  I painstakingly moved through the list of students, trying to commit each face to memory.  Some names were familiar, likely students from last semester's class.  Peter Botts.  I grimaced; I thought I remembered him being a particularly poor writer.  I considered changing the final paper to a final exam.  There was no way I could make it through another round of papers like his again.  Samuel Carter.  Dana Funk.  Tyrell Hinkly.  The list went on and on.  It was tedious doing this, but necessary.

About halfway through the course roster, I paused.  It couldn't be.  "Olivia Martin," I called.

"It's Liv," she corrected.  I looked up to a face I knew well.  Across the room, I looked into big, brown eyes, her mouth turned up into a sheepish, half-grimace.  Her hair, though much tamer than it had been in my bed a few weeks ago, was wild and curly, just how I liked it.  I had spent the last two weeks forcing myself to forget those deep, innocent eyes.  And here they were, staring back at me in anticipation.

_ _ _

Continue to next part

[althaeaofficinalis]

I finally came across that tiktok person who's ripping their asoiaf content straight from other people's tumblr posts and lol girl either cite your sources or get better at nuance.

[scientia-rex]

A lot of younger people have no idea what aging actually looks and feels like, and the reasons behind it. That ignorance is so dangerous. If you don’t want to “be old,” you aren’t talking about a number of years. I have patients in their late 80s who could still handily beat me in a race—one couple still runs marathons together, in their late 80s—and I lost someone who was in her early 60s to COPD last year. What you want is not youth, it is health.

If you want to still be able to enjoy doing things in your 60s and 70s and 80s and even 90s, what you want to do, right now, is quit smoking, get some activity on a regular basis (a couple of walks a week is WAY better for you than nothing; increasing from 1 hour a day of cardio to 1.5 will buy you very little), and eat some plants. That’s it. No magic to it. No secret weird tricks. Don’t poison yourself, move around so your body doesn’t forget how, and eat plants.

If you have trouble moving around now because of mobility limitations, bad news: you still need to move around, not because it’s immoral not to, but because that’s still the best advice we have. I highly recommend looking up the Sit and Be Fit series; it is freely available and has exercises that can be done in a chair, which are suitable for people with limited mobility or poor balance. POTS sufferers, I’m looking at you.

If you have trouble eating plants because of dietary issues (they cause gas, etc.) or just because they’re bitter (super taster with texture issues here!), bad news. You still want to find a way to get some plants into your body on a regular basis. I know. It sucks. The only way I can do it is restaurants—they can make salads taste like food. I can also tolerate some bagged salads. On bad weeks, the OCD with contamination focus gets so bad I just can’t. However, canned beans always seem “safe,” and they taste a bit like candy, so they’re a good fallback.

If you smoke and you have tried quitting a million times and you’re just not ready to, bad news. You still need to quit. Your body needs you to try and keep trying. Your brain needs it, too. Damaging small blood vessels racks up cumulative damage over time that your body can start trying to reverse as soon as you quit. I know it’s insanely, absurdly addictive. You still need to.

You cannot rules lawyer your way past your body’s basic needs. It needs food, sleep, activity, and the absence of poison. Those are both small things and big asks. You cannot sustain a routine based on punishment, so don’t punish your body. Find ways to include these things that are enjoyable and rewarding instead. Experiment. There is no reason not to experiment—you don’t have to know instantly what’s going to work for you and what won’t, you just need to be willing to try things and make changes when things aren’t working for you.

You will still age. Your body will stop making collagen and elastin. Tissues you can see and tissues you can’t see will both sag. Cushioning tissues under your skin will get thinner. You’ll bruise more easily. Skin will tear more easily. Accumulated sun damage will start to show more and more. Joints will begin to show arthritis. Tendons and ligaments will get weaker and get injured more easily, as will muscles. Bones will lose mass and get easier to break. You’ll get tired more easily.

But you know what makes the difference between being dead, or as good as, in your 60s vs your 90s? Activity, plants, and quitting smoking. And don’t do meth. Saw a 58-year-old guy this week who is going to have a heart attack if he doesn’t quit whatever stimulant he’s on. I pretended to believe it was just the cigarettes, and maybe it is, but meth and cocaine will kill you quicker. Stop poisoning yourself.

Baby steps; take it one step at a time; you don’t need to have everything figured out right now. But you do need to be working on figuring things out.

[phe-purple-parade]

Been waking up stressed lately, today's stress dream featured such hits as:

Contamination

Social exclusion

Supernatural beings

Preying on vulnerable people

Violent pursuit

Mental contagion

A performance to Michael Jackson's 'Thriller'

Shopping

So,, a mix of anxieties..

[racefortheironthrone]

Hi- er, this is my first-ever writer's strike, how does one not cross a picket line in this context? I know how not to do it with things like Amazon and IRL strikes, but how does it apply to media/streaming?

Hi, this is a great question, because it allows me to write about the difference between honoring a picket line and a boycott. (This is reminding me of the labor history podcast project that's lain fallow in my drafts folder for some time now...) In its simplest formulation, the difference between a picket line and a boycott is that a picket line targets an employer at the point of production (which involves us as workers), whereas a boycott targets an employer at the point of consumption (which involves us as consumers).

So in the case of the WGA strike, this means that at any company that is being struck by the WGA - I've seen Netflix, Amazon, Apple, Disney, Warner Brothers Discovery, NBC, Paramount, and Sony mentioned, but there may be more (check the WGA website and social media for a comprehensive list) - you do not cross a picket line, whether physical or virtual. This means you do not take a meeting with them, even if its a pre-existing project, you do not take phone calls or texts or emails or Slacks from their executives, you do not pitch them on a spec script you've written, and most of all you do not answer any job application.

Because if this strike is like any strike since the dawn of time, you will see the employers put out ads for short-term contracts that will be very lucrative, generally above union scale - because what they're paying for in addition to your labor is you breaking the picket line and damaging the strike - to anyone willing to scab against their fellow workers. GIven that one of the main issues of the WGA are the proliferation of short-term "mini rooms" whereby employers are hiring teams of writers to work overtime for a very short period, to the point where they can only really do the basics (a series outline, some "broken stories," and some scripts) and then have the showrunner redo everything on their lonesome, while not paying writers long-term pay and benefits, I would imagine we're going to see a lot of scab contracts being offered for these mini rooms.

But for most of us, unless we're actively working as writers in Hollywood, most of that isn't going to be particularly relevant to our day-to-day working lives. If you're not a professional or aspiring Hollywood writer, the important thing to remember honoring the picket line doesn't mean the same thing as a boycott. WGA West hasn't called on anyone to stop going to the movies or watching tv/streaming or to cancel their streaming subscriptions or anything like that. If and when that happens, WGA will go to some lengths to publicize that ask - and you should absolutely honor it if you can - so there will be little in the way of ambiguity as to what's going on.

That being said, one of the things that has happened in the past in other strikes is that well-intentioned people get it into their heads to essentially declare wildcat (i.e, unofficial and unsanctioned) boycotts. This kind of stuff comes from a good place, someone wanting to do more to support the cause and wanting to avoid morally contaminating themselves by associating with a struck company, but it can have negative effects on the workers and their unions. Wildcat boycotts can harm workers by reducing back-end pay and benefits they get from shows if that stuff is tied to the show's performance, and wildcat boycotts can hurt unions by damaging negotiations with employers that may or may not be going on.

The important thing to remember with all of this is that the strike is about them, not us. Part of being a good ally is remembering to let the workers' voices be heard first and prioritizing being a good listener and following their lead, rather than prioritizing our feelings.