#how about we start teaching young girls to draw clear boundaries and stand up for themselves n protect themselves frm pervs in the workplace

[monstermp3]

just saw the craziest take on tiktok that women should "not try to look too attractive at work" because "men are visual creatures" and it could be a "distraction". and also we can't look too pretty because "women feel the need to compete against each other" and so other women would feel threatened if we dressed up too much. yeah no it sounds like a company culture issue please don't try to give weird advice to young ladies just starting out. stop teaching that how we look = how competent we are!! we could look drop dead gorgeous and still slay in our work and anyone who can't appreciate that duality can stuff the nasty misogynistic opinion that ~pretty women are necessarily incompetent bimbos~ up their ass. that or we could just leave this workplace that obviously doesn't appreciate us for what we do AND who we are

[spitpr1ncess]

Can I Call You Sir? / Nanami Kento x Fem Reader

--“And if I did? It’s only proved what I thought to be true all along. You’re a little degenerate, like me. I just wanted to test you, to know if you wanted what I wanted. Seems like you do, so tell me to stop and I will. Tell me you’re leaving, I’ll let you. I’m not going to force you to do anything, I respect your boundaries, and I respect that this is wrong. It just, feels so right. So deny it.”--

Fucking bullshit.

You stare at the graded paper before you and seethe from the inside out. An F? A fail?! But you’d studied relentlessly! The only thought you were having was how your mother was going to kill you when she finds out, you can practically hear her shrieking, “I’m paying heaps of money to put you through university and this is what you have to show for it?

Professor Nanami is writing something that looks vaguely recognizable on the chalk board, his tall but slim body looking oddly out of place at the front of the long classroom as you glare holes into the back of his blue shirt. There wasn’t a single person you hated more than him in this never-ending moment. You yawn and allow your head to fall heavy onto your crossed arms, hiding your shameful test results. You could listen to Professor Nanami with your eyes closed based solely on the fact that you would be failing the rest of this term if your test results were anything to go by.

The rest of the lesson passes quickly as you fall victim to maladaptive daydreams, playing out every single scenario where you approach Professor Nanami and question his harsh grading. You aren’t a stupid girl, in fact, in every other class you were smashing your target or hitting above. What was this mans problem? You imagine slamming your paper down in front of him, arms crossed and little foot tapping the floor. “Do you hate me?”, “So you have favourites?”, or just a plain “what the fuck?!” were among the favourites you’d rehearsed. His face was cold as stone as he stared back before licking his lower lip and smirking, pulling his glasses atop his head, causing a pretty ripple in his hair as he stands absolutely towering over you. A large thumb lifts your chin to look at him as his eyes bore into you. Then his lips are on yours.

Wait what?

What?

You’re roughly pulled from your daydream by your hair as a pair of polished brown shoes stand at the foot of your worn school desk and a voice beckons your name. Professor Nanami is stood less than a foot in front of you waiting for an explanation. You shoot bolt upright in the uncomfortable wooden chair as your entire body feels like its been zapped by an electric fence. You can feel the blush in your face spreading to your ears as you push the strange daydream to the back of your degenerate mind.

“Sleeping through my lectures will not help you fix that broken grade, Miss Reader. Do you understand me? Or do I need to put it more plainly? It can’t be easy with a simple mind like yours, but I’m sure we could find a way to help you absorb what I’m saying.” His eyes are cold as steel and boring into your soul, he doesn’t even blink, he’s like a robot. You hold his gaze before risking a look around the classroom revealing that it is completely empty, not a soul to be seen, brilliant. So not only had you failed your test but you’d also voluntarily agreed to extracurricular activities whilst daydreaming about kissing your Professor, it sure was a great day to be you.

You panic, how were you going to salvage this? You needed to think quickly, but nothing was springing to mind.

Clearing your throat and calming your nerves you begin, “sorry Professor I didn’t get much sleep last night, I have a lot going on at home so am finding it difficult to participate in classes at the moment.”

You are?

He lets out a small snort as he sits at the edge of your desk, peering down at you through his glasses, a look of judgement plasters his incredibly chiselled facial features, he is beautiful, and you’re happy to admit that, whether or not it could get you in trouble.

What?

“Your lies won’t cut it here, you’re excelling in all your other classes, algebra, languages and biology. These are not easy subjects and geography is a breeze in comparison, so why are you failing? Are you doing it on purpose?” Your attention is drawn to his strong throat and his Adams apple lifts and falls again as he swallows and you wonder if he is anxious about approaching you, not that he has any reason to be.

You feel anger bubble in your throat as you argue back, “I’m not a liar. I’m having trouble concentrating here. Your teaching, the class size, the fact the class is the last of the day, maybe you’re grading me too harshly! Have you considered that? Nobody else failed, so why did I?!” Your voice is shaking now and your knuckles are white as you push your nails into your palms, drawing blood. Professor Nanami looks at you for a moment before standing and heading back to his desk at the front of the class where he picks up a piece of chalk and some papers and begins to write.

“Question one is on plate tectonics, lets begin there. Would you care to explain the theory to me?” He turns and gives you a weirdly friendly smile, you calm your nerves and take a breath, opening your paper and looking at your answer, you read out the sentences you had written and cringe as you allow Professor Nanami to correct you, taking notes on his tutoring. Your personal four o’clock class finishes at just past seven as you both wrap up the test paper and Nanami wipes the board clean.

“In future Miss Reader, you come to me when you need help. You’re a smart young lady really, you know that, so put your brain to use. You’re going to do great things after your course is up so don’t discredit yourself over one failed paper.” He sits at his desk and waves his hand to dismiss you. “You’d better go now, I’m sure you have a worried boyfriend wondering where you’ve gotten to so late in the evening.” He pushes his glasses onto the top of his head, much like in your daydream, and you appreciate how good he looks for a moment. He’s aged yes, around thirty yes, but still gorgeous. You know the girls at University fawn over him, fighting to get even a slither of attention, and here you were, in a private tutoring session of your own, and without even meaning to.

You ponder the boyfriend comment before packing up and heading for the exit, deciding to test the waters you address him, “I don’t have a boyfriend Professor you see I simply don’t have time, and anyway, none of the boys here are mature enough to interest me.” You turn and give him a smile as you catch his gaze flitting up from where your stockings meet the fat of your thighs, you roll your eyes at him and shake your head as you sigh and leave for the night.

This was an interesting development.

-

Sleep washes over you as you awaken in your dream. Professor Nanami is sitting before you, he beckons for you to sit on his lap, you oblige and as you nestle against his chest, his fingers find the edge of your stocking, he traces lazy patterns on your thigh, eliciting a small sigh of pleasure from you. He nuzzles his nose against your cheek and plants a soft kiss against your neck, he pushes your soft hair behind your ear and begins to litter kisses on your sensitive lobe.

“Sweet thing, you smell heavenly, I just want to devour you.” He whispers. You throw your head back and invite him to suck and nip at your exposed throat, completely vulnerable in his arms you entrust him with your entirety. He groans as you manoeuvre your little waist to create friction with the fat of your ass and you’re met with the impossible hardness between his legs, this moment between the two of you feels like fireworks, everything is at a standstill and there is nothing but your two bodies, completely entwined, obsessed with each other’s perfect anatomy. You continue to explore each other physically as you mewl and sigh rhythmically, nothing has ever felt better than your Professors loving touch on your absolute innocence. You’d been with boys yes, but never a man like Nanami.

“Nanamin,” you cry out as he finds the hotness between your legs.

“Sweet girl, I’ll take the best care of you, just relax.” he speaks like sweet poetry from his mouth that tastes like the most expensive organic honey. Your breath hitches as he starts to disappear, you reach out but he is no longer there.

-

You jolt awake as you feel wetness pooling between your legs, the hotness and lack of friction so unbearable you are torn from the dream of all dreams.

Fuck, this is weird now.

Daydreaming about your Professor wouldn’t be the worst thing if you weren’t now absolutely sopping wet and grinding against your own mattress. You dare to slip a tiny hand under the waistband of your pants and give a little release to yourself, it felt unreal, and without realizing you were picturing him as you drive yourself to the edge and jump off head first. You’re picturing his pretty features and strong hands, his soft lips and authoritarian stare. In your head he’s praising you, “sweet thing, sweet girl” he says. You shudder as you come down from the satiating high and allow shame to encase you completely, rolling over, you stare at the screen of your phone.

5:38. A notification flashes from last night.

baby nobara: maps said you left uni at 7! wtf were u doing?? ps, shopping tmorrow?

You open the notification and type a quick reply.

you: was just studying, nothing important hahahah. sure! meet me at 11?

With that, you roll back over and let sleep nestle you gently between her arms.

-

It’s twenty minutes after your planned meet time that Nobara turns up, and holding a Krispy Kreme bag full of donuts and a doc marten tote housing at least one new pair of shoes, she’d obviously done a pre-shop, not that it was particularly out of character for her. Her gentle face is plastered with a mischievous grin as she runs and embraces you like two sisters might embrace after a long time away from each other’s presence

“I had to warm up before we got started!” she laughs at you, and all is forgiven in a matter of seconds. You’re both giggling as she opens the bag and makes you a peace offering of a strawberry donut, you eagerly accept as you discuss what shops you want to hit up today. You both spend hours browsing, trying on and chatting about everything, you don’t get to see Nobara often as you have alternating days on campus and your schedules clash horribly so the times you do spend together are cram packed full of mischief.

You’re walking past a load of stores as you approach Victoria's Secret and you immediately flash back to Professor Nanamis eyes on your stockings last night and his comment about your supposed boyfriend. Cogs are turning in your mind but before you have time to make the connection, you’re being dragged in, you have no objections and are pleasantly surprised by the variety of lingerie this particular chain of store holds. You pick out a few different numbers including a black corset body suit and a matching garter with stockings, you knew the reason for picking it out was completely inappropriate but it didn’t stop you from taking it to the counter and paying nearly 100 dollars for it. You grinned as you schemed yet another daydream waiting for your friend to decide on the bits she wanted.

You both decide on a little sushi place for lunch and as you fill your mouth with miso Nobara asks, “Who are you fucking? It has to be someone at university, that’s why you stayed so late, right?” The question completely winds you as you try not to choke on your food. Your eyes are watering as you try to explain that it was just extra-curricular studies. Nobara nods and rolls her eyes, “You don’t have to lie to me, I’ll find out sure enough.” She laughs as you pray she lets this go, shovelling some nigiri into her mouth she waves you off. “Chill,” she says as you allow your heart to slow in your chest.

You give her a hug as you finally part ways and she ruffles your hair, “See you around”, and with that she’s gone. You begin the walk home as you reflect on the events of today, you reel as you come to the realization you spent 100 dollars on a lingerie set for a man over ten years your senior who would less than likely ever find out you’d bought it. Unless.

No.

You shake the thought of trying to bait your own Professor after barely scraping by the last term, expulsion for indecent behaviour seems somewhat worse, at least you think. It also doesn’t seem good for Nobara to now suspect you have something going on with somebody, she has to know all the top gossip and you don’t doubt she will find a way. Now that you think about it, you should turn your phone location off. You know your friend would stalk you for the sake of some scandalous news she can tease you about. You giggle to yourself, you and Professor Nanami, what a thought.

-

The bell rings as you finish washing your hands, you stopped to use the bathroom before your final class of the day, Geography. You’d been anticipating this class, having chosen the black corset body suit with stockings to match, you’d paired it with a mid-length black satin skirt and an oversized cardigan, it was enough to feel comfortable in, and not break any regulations but enough for Professor Nanami to notice, which was just perfect. You wanted to test the waters after his comment and wandering eyes, you’d had time to stew over your awful test results and were wondering if maybe he was a little harsh with the grading. Either way, today would tell.

You hurry up the stairs and down the long corridor to the classroom where he lectures, there were around 30 students already settled in class and you could see your Professor writing on the board. You slip in quietly and take your seat at the back of the class, you shed your cardigan, giving a frontal view of your chest and begin to take notes. You ensure you pay full attention to todays class, not taking your eyes off the man at the front of your lecture room. You meet his gaze a few times and you sense him trying really hard to not allow his eager eyes to flit downwards, you wish for him to give you anything more than a feeling to go off of but he’s stone cold and hard as steel. As the class draws to an end Nanami dismisses the students and you wait until the room has emptied before you walk towards his desk. You wait for him to address you.

“Miss Reader, can I help you with something?” he doesn’t meet your gaze and instead continues typing something on his keyboard, you’re frustrated with how nonchalant he’s being, how you’ve probably misread the entire encounter, how you’ve created a whole reality from nothing.

“I, I was hoping maybe you would assist me with some questions I have from the class today Sir, if you have time of course.” If he wanted to play games, he would get games, you might be younger than him but you’re not stupid.

“That’s okay, you’ll have to give me ten minutes whilst I finish this email, then I’m all yours. Feel free to take a seat.” He motions for the first desk in the front row and you roll your eyes as you decide to make a stand. You pull a chair from the side of the room to Nanamis desk and sit directly opposite him, you take out your textbooks and begin to lay them out on the space behind his computer, sitting down you cross your legs, brushing his shin with your shoe. You’re sure you see his jaw tighten, but he plays it off by cracking his neck, the loud crunch distracts from the tension filled silence and you lick your bottom lip in anticipation.

He finishes with his email and pushes the computer screen to the side of his desk then leans back in his chair and loosens his tie slightly, he catches you watching the space above where his shirt is buttoned and smirks, “So what questions do you have sweet girl?”, it’s an innocent enough question but you’re walking a fine line and need to be careful. You make idle small talk about today’s class for an hour or so before asking your Professor to quiz you, it’s a shot in the dark but you’re hoping he will catch on.

“I’ve been revising, ask me any twenty questions, if I get them right you can pass me for that test!” you grin, proud of the compromise you’d come up with.

“It’s a good idea, but what if you get questions wrong? Does the fail still stand?” he laughs quietly, like he made a personal joke that only he understood, he allowed his eyes to trail down to the black floral lace encasing your chest, it wasn’t overly provocative (you were in university after all) but it was enough to make his mind wander. You test the waters again, trailing a finger over the top of the hem, outlining the soft of your breasts, Nanami shuffles in his seat and adjusts his legs, brilliant.

You allow your Professor to test you, answering all questions and waiting for each correct answer like a patient puppy, sitting for its master. At the end of the test you grin, over the moon with yourself for showing him you deserve a passing mark.

“I told you! I told you I shouldn’t have failed. You were definitely marking me too harshly!” You brush your leg against his again, and he doesn’t make an effort to move himself, he drinks you in through the round frames of his glasses that are sitting pretty on the top of his nose.

“Sweet girl, I never thought you were stupid, in fact, I think you’re rather smart. So tell me, why are you really here right now?” He sits forward in his chair and leans across his desk, towards you. Your faces are so close that you can feel his warm and tempting breath on your lips, your eyes close of their own accord and you lean in. He teases you with soft pecks and you fight back, bringing a hand to his chin but he beats you to it. Your hand completely drowned by his own, the sheer size difference a shock to your system, he holds your hand against his desk where your forgotten papers sit. With his other hand he brings his thumb just below your chin and lifts your face so your eyes can meet his, “Is this what you wanted all along? To kiss your Professor? Is this what your little get up today is about? You thought I wouldn’t notice the pretty lace? Do you know how good you look?” His rhetoric questions causing your heart to beat a hole in your chest you inhale sharply, trying to take control of your breathing once again.

“You failed me on purpose.” It’s slipped out before you have time to consider what you’re saying.

What?!

“And if I did? It’s only proved what I thought to be true all along. You’re a little degenerate, like me. I just wanted to test you, to know if you wanted what I wanted. Seems like you do, so tell me to stop and I will. Tell me you’re leaving, I’ll let you. I’m not going to force you to do anything, I respect your boundaries, and I respect that this is wrong. It just, feels so right. So deny it.”

A grown man, your professor nonetheless, sits before you in what feels like a dream, asking for you to stop this.

So stop it.

You take your free hand and pull his face into yours, you’re kissing again, this time with more desperation. It was like you were parched, and Nanami was a stream of fresh water, you couldn’t get enough, and it was like your entire life depended on it. His desk was the only thing stopping you from jumping across and allowing him to devour you whole, you thought about straddling his lap and allowing him to grab the soft fat of your ass. Not yet.

You pull away from the kiss and stand, looking at the man before you, his tie completely loose, a few strands of hair falling on his forehead allowing him to look dishevelled, his glasses slightly steamed up. He was a sight to behold and your heart was beating to within an inch of your life with the idea that you had caused it. Internally you were screaming, DON’T FUCKING STOP. But you had to, had to make sure this wouldn’t be a mistake. You leaned across the desk and picked his glasses off of his nose, placing them on your own and pulling them up, to push the hair off of your face. He looked puzzled and opened his mouth to say something but you interrupted him.

“It seems I have forgotten something, looks like I’ll have to come back to get it tomorrow, what a shame.” And with that, you shot him a grin, turned on your heels, and left. Nanami sat staring at the door in utter shock and awe as you stalked out. He quickly fixed himself up sans glasses and packed up for the day, he muttered something about teaching you a lesson, and spare frames before he left, allowing the leftover tension to dissolve.

[ladyanput]

a elite journalism company is recruiting for internships and asking people who know the candidates for input. when they come to Bustier's class and say they want to take people aside to ask about Alya, Marinette tells them not to bother and just look at the Ladyblog to see what sort of reporter she is. Alya thinks that Marinette is trying to worm her way into her good graces, Mari knows they'll actually fact check and reject her,

There was a buzz of conversation in the school today. Apparently a high end journalism agency was out recruiting interns for the summer, their goal being to teach and carefully groom the reporters of tomorrow.

And Alya Césaire was all the more eager to show them what she could do. So she put her name in for that internship and waited.

It wasn't long before she noticed that her classmates were being called out of class one by one. When they would come back, they'd shoot Alya a big smile and give her a thumbs up.

Her brows furrowed, confused, but she smiled back and continued with her daydreams of being a star reporter, of being the one to find out Ladybug's identity, of maybe even covering the future wedding of Chat Noir and Ladybug, with Lila as the maid of honour!

"Marinette Dupain-Cheng. You're wanted next." Principal Damocles spoke up, eyeing the girl sitting in the very back row, all by herself.

Marinette nodded and got up, ignoring the glares sent her way by her classmates and followed the principal to his office.

She quickly noticed a woman sitting at the principal's desk. She was beautiful, dressed in a white sheath dress that complimented her soft dark skin and trim body. Her dark hair was pinned back, and her dark eyes settled on Marinette.

Marinette knew that the woman was analysing her, taking in much information with a single gaze.

It scared her a back.

"Miss Dupain-Cheng, yes? I'm Genevieve Belrose. I work with Paris National, the biggest news agency in France." The beautiful woman spoke, folding her hands neatly as Marinette took a seat and Damocles left. "I am currently out recruiting interns for the summer. One Miss Alya Césaire has applied, and we at PN like to gather as much information about our interns as we can, as one can lie of a resumé, but the people as a whole always help paint the full picture. Now, do you think that Miss Césaire is worthy of an internship with us?"

Marinette bit her lower lip gently, her hands tightly gripping the armrests of the chair. This was Alya's dream job, this could get her to the best places in journalism. It'd make Alya so happy.

But why should you concern herself with Alya's happiness? She hadn't concerned herself with Marinette's.

"No, Miss Belrose, I don't think Alya Césaire is suitable for the internship." The words came out before Marinette could stop them. But no guilt came as soon as they were spoken. In fact, Marinette felt somewhat relieved.

"Really?" Genevieve's brows rose as she stared at the young girl. "All of your friends have her outstanding praise, saying she was a good journalist."

"She's not." Marinette stood abruptly, her body shaking ever so slightly. Genevieve didn't flinch, seeing there was an obvious emotional turmoil. "Look at her blog, the Ladyblog. She had posted nothing but lies recently."

When Marinette motioned to Principal Damocles' computer, the head of PN went and looked up the blog. She already had before, had researched it extensively, as the internship application for miss Césaire had been bragging much about her superior blog.

It had been subpar. At the earliest of posts, it was promising, but recently it had reminded Genevieve of a gossip tabloid.

"It has become a shrine to Lila Rossi, more than a blog of facts." Marinette pointed to several posts, ones Genevieve herself had quickly found out to be untrue. "And to the search for Ladybug's identity. One that Ladybug herself pleaded for her not to try and find, as it could endanger the ones she loves."

"Hmmm." Belrose nodded. She did find that frantic hunt for a superhero's identity was intriguing, but she knew that is Ladybug fell, then Paris would fall victim to Hawkmoth, so she had banned any such coverage from PI. She respected Ladybug, and respect and trust was how you got interviews from the big names in the world.

Genevieve listened as Marinette told her every lie, every dishonorable thing Alya had done in her own twisted sense of journalism.

"Miss Aurore Beauréal has a blog called 'BugOut'. It is much better, and has even debunked the lies that Alya has published, but Alya refuses to change anything. In fact, she attacked Aurore the other day about it." Marinette sat down again, hugging herself. Had she overstepped a boundary...? She couldn't help it, but she couldn't allow Alya to have the assets that came with that internship.

She truly was a horrible friend, wasn't she?

"... I thank you, Miss Dupain-Cheng. You are the only one in that entire class of yours to be honest with me, beside one Chloé Bourgeois. While I honour loyalty, honesty is a better policy, despite what people make us journalists out to be." Genevieve gave the girl a dry smile and stood. "Miss Césaire will not be working with us. She is a disgrace to journalism everywhere, and from what I've read, she is far too proud to admit her mistakes. That is a journalist's downfall. I appreciate you for pointing me towards someone that has the potential to be worthy of my company. Now, you may go back to class, Miss Dupain-Cheng. I have an internship agreement to write up."

---

Alya Césaire perked up slightly when she saw a camera man with a 'Paris National' walked by them in the hallway. Were they finally here to give her her internship?

"Lila, I think it's finally happening!" Alya squealed as she pulled the Italian girl closer, pointing to the camera man as he disappeared through the doors and out to the courtyard.

"I told you my cousin worked there. I put in a good word for you, I promised afterall." Lila smiled sweetly, while silently being thrilled. With Alya becoming a reporter in an actual agency, she could become even more famous!

As the two girls entered the courtyard, they watched, confused, as a young man was handing Aurore a letter, than shaking her hand.

"We look forward to you starting your internship soon, Miss Beauréal. Welcome to the PN family." The man was saying, and Alya felt her blood go to ice.

"What...?" Alya whispered softly, staring off as Aurore's classmates cheered for their friend, and Aurore burst into grateful tears.

"Oh Alya, I'm so sorry!" Lila gasped, her hands on her cheeks and her eyes wide. "I was certain my uncle could get you it."

"Why...? Why couldn't I get the internship? By blog as ten times the amount of followers as Aurore's mess!" Alya snapped, her hands curling into fists.

"Maybe it's because Aurore is white." Lila spoke up suddenly, crossing her arms. "You know how it is in the industries. As long as you're white, you get first pick."

"I beg your pardon?" Both girls turned around, seeing Genevieve standing behind them, her arms crossed. She had a scornful look on her face. "I will let you know, Miss Lila Rossi, that race had nothing to do with my decision on who I will be personally interning. It was about quality over quantity. And Miss Césaire's quality was quite lacking."

"What the hell do you mean? My blog is perfect!" Alya shouted, drawing the attention of everyone in the courtyard. Marinette frowned as she pulled back from her hug with Aurore. Alya looked like a dog readying to tear out the throat of its prey.

"Your blog is trash!" Genevieve snapped, setting a perfectly manicured hand on her hip. "I have never seen such sloppy work! Your stories were a disgrace! You only took the stories from your little friend here at face value, and never once found any secondary sources to back them up!"

"Lila isn't a liar! Did Marinette put you up to this?!" Alya spun, her face red with anger. "Marinette, you bitch!"

"That is enough!" Genevieve snarled, her eyes narrowing dangerously. It was clear she had made a good decision. Genevieve had worked too hard, had suffered such discrimination, she was sure Alya would have thrown it all out the window, seeing how she reacted to rejection. "You, Miss Césaire, are a disgrace! I would never, ever hire anyone like you in my life! I will make sure every news agency, ever tabloid, every newspaper stand in Paris knows this! How dare you insult me, and my company, by thinking we think race matters over everything else, such as the most basic thing as checking sources, which you fail to do!"

"Wh-what...? Wait, no!" Alya's face went pale, as she reached out a shaky hand.

"Don't worry, Miss Césaire. I believe Miss Beauréal and I will be working on a story tonight. A story of one tabloid trash who got a bit too entitled with her out paltry journalism skills."

Genevieve left the girl standing there, smiling down at Aurore as she approached. "I certainly hope you can come to headquarters with me. I have already contacted your parents, I have their permission."

"Yes! Yes please!" Aurore gasped, delight clear in her eyes.

Genevieve gave a look to Marinette, smiling and nodding to her, before leaving with her eager new intern.

Taglist:

All:

@vixen-uchiha @ravennightingaleandavatempus @2sunchild2 @crazylittlemunchkin @bee-wrecker @souleateralicestein @loysydark @kceedraws @realrandomposts @alienjoyful @virgil-is-a-cutie @sidessunnybumblebee @persephonebutkore @18-fandoms-unite-08 @suzen23smith @luciferge @theelventhgod @noirdots @space--butterflies @ghostglaceon @magicalfirebird @goggles-mcgee @chocolate1721 @minightrose @bookcrazybby @cupcakeandkisses @mewwitch

[violinsweetiemiss]

Phoenix Aurora Chapter 3 (Got7 Jinyoung X OC)

For a long moment, the entire main hall was completely silent. Court officials stared at each other, as did the other princes besides Jinyoung and Jaebeom. 

Had they just heard her right?

The Empress had chosen not one the princes that were known for their swordsmanship or their archery abilities, nor had she chosen any of the princes that had already made a name for themselves in court.

Instead, she had chosen the gentle, scholarly Fifth Prince?

Jinyoung stared at the Empress, shocked to the core. He was the last person he had ever expected her to choose. Surely, she had made a mistake. Too much alcohol perhaps? And yet, here she was, standing right in front of him with a small smile on her face that made it clear there would be no questioning her choice. For once, even the king was flabbergasted.

“Your Majesty...what did you just say?” He asked. Jang Soyoung turned and looked at him, an unperturbed smile on her face.

“I said,” She replied, “I would like to marry the fifth prince, Park Jinyoung.” Her dark, steady gaze narrowed, sending a shiver down Jinyoung’s back.

“I do not wish to repeat myself a second time.” She added firmly. The king slowly composed himself and then hesitated before speaking.

“But Your Majesty…” He said carefully, “Jinyoung is...simply a scholarly boy. He is intelligent, that is true, but he is neither an experienced politician nor a brilliant fighter. Why do you want to marry him?” Jang Soyoung thought for a moment before smirking.

“That is true.” She said, “He is none of the things that someone would expect to see in a person I choose to be prince consort. However…” She reached up and tapped her head.

“I do not need a warrior as a husband.” She stated, “If that was the case, I would have married someone from Yuan and arranged for a union between our countries a different way. What I need is someone with his intelligence, who can stand by my side with unwavering loyalty. Park Jinyoung has exactly what I need.” Jinyoung shot a pleading look at Jaebeom, and then his father, but he could tell that both were at a loss. It was clear the Empress had already made up her mind. There was nothing that could be done. 

“King of Goryeo.” Jang Soyoung raised an eyebrow, “I recognize he is one of your two precious sons born of the late queen. However, you cannot coddle him within the Goryeo boundaries forever.” The king swallowed hard and slowly nodded.

“I understand.” He said, “If it is Jinyoung that Your Majesty wishes to marry, then it will happen. I am sure he will live a good life in Yuan.” Jang Soyoung smiled and bowed politely.

“Of course.” She replied, “I thank you, King of Goryeo, for allowing me to marry your precious son.” Jinyoung fell back into his chair, his legs going weak.

It was the most impossible of results, and yet, here it was. 

He was going to marry the Empress of Yuan.

____________________________________________________________________________

The rest of the banquet passed by without any issues, but Jinyoung barely noticed time going by. Although bewildered by the whole mess, the court officials came to congratulate him on the upcoming marriage. Jaebeom, thankfully, moved quickly to intercede the cups of wine offered from the court officials, allowing Jinyoung to think through the matters with a clear mind.

The more Jinyoung thought about it, the more the whole matter didn’t make sense to him. What had the Empress seen in him? What had he done that had caught her attention by the time half the banquet was over, that had made her so certain she wanted to marry him? No, it couldn’t possibly be based on the banquet alone. The way the empress looked at him, the certain smile on her face...it all made Jinyoung think back to the girl at the teahouse earlier that day. And so, as the banquet came to a close and the guests retired to their rooms, Park Jinyoung made up his mind.

Sitting here wondering isn’t going to get me any answers.

After asking around for a short while, Jinyoung made his way directly to the Empress’s guest chambers. Unfortunately, he was promptly blocked at the door by two guards, who refused to move even when he made his identity clear.

“What’s going on?” Her voice, the clear authoritative tone, rose from inside the closed doors. Glaring at the guards, Jinyoung called out loudly in response.

“The Fifth Prince Park Jinyoung requests an audience with Her Majesty!” He called out. There was a long silence, then a soft laugh came from inside.

“Let him in.” 

The guards promptly moved aside, and Jinyoung swiftly made his way inside the guest chambers. He didn’t think of himself as a rash person; growing up in the palace had taught him to think three times before he did anything. But this time, he needed answers, and he wasn’t going to stop until he got them when his future was on the line. 

He could see the Empress sitting on her bed behind a delicate paper screen as he entered, and he promptly stopped in his tracks to maintain propriety. 

“My apologies, Your Majesty.” Jinyoung said quickly, “I did not realize you were preparing for bed.” Her soft laugh, like windchimes blowing in the night breeze, fluttered from behind the screen. 

“Not to worry, Fifth Prince.” She replied, “I was simply preparing for a night walk through the palace. However, it seems like you have an urgent matter you need to discuss with me.” Jinyoung hesitated for a brief moment, then charged forward with his question.

“My apologies if I am being too frank.” He said, “But why does Your Majesty want to marry me?” There was a brief moment of silence, and then the empress laughed again. Slowly, she rose from her seat and stepped out from behind the thin paper screen. Jinyoung stared for a brief moment, a hot flush rising to his cheeks. In the short time since the banquet had ended, the empress had changed into a thinner lilac and white gown, one far simpler than the elaborate dress she had worn for the banquet. The silky fabric fell smoothly down her body, hugging her waist and showing off her well toned figure. The elaborate headdress had be replaced instead with soft purple flowers and two intricate hairpieces that matched her dress. It was far from a nightgown, and she had pulled a cloak on over the dress, but Jinyoung had never been this close with a woman dressed in anything short of full formal attire.

“Is that all this is about?” Empress Soyoung asked, drawing Jinyoung out of his daze, “You rushed all the way into an unmarried woman’s room late at night to ask something I already answered?” Jinyoung cleared his throat loudly in an attempt to clear his mind.

“That is...I need more answers than that.” He said, “Your Majesty, as my father said, I am neither a warrior nor a politician. I cannot help you in your conquests nor can I help you in court. What is it that you like about me?” The Empress tilted her head slightly and looked at him for a long moment before smiling ever so slightly.

“Indeed, you are not a warrior.” She replied, “But I am. A warrior doesn’t need a warrior by her side. To put two strong warriors together only calls for disaster. And if you want to learn, I can still teach you in the future.” 

“But I am not well versed in Yuan politics, nor do I know anything about Yuan that would be helpful as prince consort!” Jinyoung protested. The Empress laughed and stepped closer to him, and on instinct, Jinyoung took another step back.

“You will learn quickly.” She replied, “You are an intelligent man, are you not?” 

“I’m only a scholar!” Jinyoung countered, “Simply a scholar! I’d rather spend my entire day sitting and reading in the library!” Empress Soyoung chuckled and shook her head.

“Fifth Prince, do not underestimate yourself so much.” She said, “You are not simply a scholar. You are observant, careful, astute, and think quickly on your feet. Those are the qualities that I need in a husband.” Something cold bumped up against Jinyoung’s back, and with a start he realized that at some point, he had backed directly into the cold stone wall that lined the guest chambers. He spluttered for something to say as Jang Soyoung gazed intently at him.

“Is there anything else you would like to ask, Fifth Prince?” She asked coolly, seemingly unperturbed by the fact that they were merely inches apart. Jinyoung swallowed hard, his throat going dry.

“I barely said a word all night.” He said, “How did Your Majesty see all those qualities in me?” The Empress raised an eyebrow, then laughed at the question. Jinyoung gulped as she stretched out her hand next to him and pressed it against the wall behind him, bringing her even closer to the young prince’s face. 

“Whoever said this was the first time we met?” She replied, “Little poet.” Jinyoung’s eyes widened as he took in what she was saying. 

So I wasn’t imagining that deja vu!

“Your Majesty...you...you were at the teahouse?” He spluttered, “What were you doing there?” The corner of Jang Soyoung’s lips turned up in a small smirk, and suddenly Jinyoung felt once again like he was watching a little wildcat. 

And once again, the cat’s target was him.

“Did Your Highness not say that I would only choose the best to be my other half?” She responded instead, “Then trust that you are the best, and stop asking so many questions.” His heart hammering in his chest at their proximity, Jinyoung could only nod.

“Y-yes. I understand.” He spluttered, at a loss for words. On his way here, he had thought of a hundred different arguments to convince the empress not to marry him. But no matter what he said, she had an immediate counterargument to stop him in his tracks. 

The message was clear: Jang Soyoung was not taking no for an answer.

Sensing there was nothing more he could say, Jang Soyoung pulled away at last.

“If Your Highness is finished, I will be taking my walk now.” She declared, and walked out of the guest chambers as if nothing had ever happened. Jinyoung watched her go, his jaw dropping as he slowly took in all that had just happened.

Just what is this woman?

____________________________________________________________________________

“Just who is this woman?” Jinyoung’s angry voice echoed across the room as he paced across the Crown Prince’s chambers, his hands clasped tightly behind his back.

“Just what sort of woman is she?” He said to no one in particular, “I couldn’t get in a single word with her! I’ve never seen a woman this stubborn, this intent on one thing before! What am I, her prey? What sort of woman just declares someone is going to be her husband and expects him to accept it!” Jaebeom chuckled and rose to his feet, his gentle hands pulling Jinyoung to a stop.

“Brother, brother, calm down.” He said, “You are going to wear a hole in the floor at this rate.” Jinyoung huffed angrily.

“Hyung-nim!” He protested, “I don’t want to marry her!”

“I know, I know.” Jaebeom said soothingly, “But if she is the girl from the tea house, didn’t you find her intriguing?” Jinyoung huffed again.

“That was then, and this is now!” He stated, “I found her straightforwardness interesting, and at that point she did pose a fun challenge to me. But this is completely different! Just because I found that one experience interesting doesn’t mean I wouldn’t mind marrying her!” Jaebeom patted Jinyoung on the shoulder gently.

“I know, I know.” He said again, “You like to take things slowly when it comes to women. To have someone just walk up and declare you will marry her is completely opposite to what you wanted.”

“Exactly!” Jinyoung replied with a little angry stomp on the floor. 

“But think about it this way,” Jaebeom said, “Perhaps she is precisely the type of woman you need. She is the complete opposite of you, but sometimes that is the best pairing someone can ask for.”

“No!” Jinyoung insisted with a growl, “I know she isn’t the right match for me! And now I’m going to have to spend the rest of my life in a different country with a woman I couldn’t possibly love!” Jaebeom clapped a hand over Jinyoung’s mouth, his gentle gaze narrowing in a second.

“Quiet.” He scolded, “Don’t let anyone hear you say that. Everyone of course acknowledges you and the empress don’t love each other, but who knows what trouble will be created if you say it that loudly?” Of course Jinyoung understood what his brother was talking about. There was no way he and the empress felt anything for each other, but if he made it too obvious, it would become a weakness for others to exploit for their ulterior motives. Who knew what rumors would start spreading if he was too vocal about the matter? It was safest to keep his head down and follow the prearranged path. 

Like it or not, he would have to go to Yuan.

“Look at things this way, Brother.” Jaebeom suggested, ‘It could be much worse. At the very  least, you must admit she is beautiful.” Jinyoung thought for a moment about the comment, and had to admit the Crown Prince was right. Slowly, he found his mind wandering back to the way he had seen Jang Soyoung last, dressed in a soft lilac dress with flowers in her hair. If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought she was a nobleman’s daughter who had befriended one of his sisters. Somehow, his mind also wandered back to the way she had leaned close to him, her face inches from him as she spoke, the soft scent of floral perfume floating off her long flowing hair as her pink lips turned up slightly in the faintest of smiles…

“Jinyoung?” Jaebeom’s voice drew him back to the present, and he blinked in confusion as he saw his brother staring at him.

“What?” He asked, realizing he had frozen in place.

“You’re blushing.” Jaebeom replied, poking at Jinyoung’s cheeks, “Are you thinking of the empress?” Jinyoung cleared his throat and turned away in embarrassment, flapping a hand at his cheeks at a futile attempt to calm himself.

Where is my mind going?

“So what if she’s beautiful?” He replied, trying to pull the conversation back on track, “It doesn’t mean I’ll have to like her.” Jaebeom chuckled knowingly.

“So you were thinking of the empress.” He affirmed, playfully giving him a shove on the shoulder. Jinyoung huffed, feeling his cheeks grow hot again. 

“That’s enough for tonight!” He declared, “I’m tired! I’m going to bed!” With that, Jinyoung rushed out of the Crown Prince’s quarters before Jaebeom could say anything, and hurried off into the night.

____________________________________________________________________________

Elsewhere, Jang Soyoung stood in the royal garden, her hands trailing lightly over a large pink flower that glimmered in the moonlight.

“My Lady.” Hyojun said quietly from her side, but didn’t say anything else. Jang Soyoung smiled faintly.

“Go ahead and ask.” She said, “You also want to know why I chose the Fifth Prince, don’t you?” 

“Indeed, My Lady.” Hyojun replied, “He is the most unassuming prince, the one few people think of as being a powerful player in court. Don’t you need someone strong and powerful to stay by your side?” Soyoung smiled and tsked softly.

“Hyojun, I thought you, out of all people, would understand my choice.” She said. Hyojun dipped his head.

“I’m sorry, My Lady.” He said quietly. Soyoung laughed softly and shook her head.

“It is because he is unassuming, it is because he is the least likely choice that I chose him.” She replied, “All the court officials were constantly wondering who I would pick as prince consort, wondering which powerful player I would bring into the fight to hold onto my throne. You know they were all preparing to fight against the strongest possible player I could have chosen. And yet, Park Jinyoung is someone they are not prepared to face. His strengths lie not in his backing, or his physical strength, but in his intellect. And that is something nobody but himself can control. That is the type of man I need by my side.” A smile turned up the corner of her lips as she continued walking.

“And besides...he is the first person to have held my attention for so long.” Soyoung mused softly, “The way he speaks, the way he recites his poems, the way he smiles...I’ve never been so attracted to one man before.”

“My Lady holds affection for the Fifth Prince already?” Hyojun asked, sounding skeptical. Soyoung laughed and poked her guard lightly on the forehead.

“Look at you, speaking as if you have so much experience with love.” She teased, then shook her head.

“It is too soon to say if there is affection.” She said, “Rather, right now I’d say if I need someone from Goryeo to stand by my side for the rest of my life, I wouldn’t mind it being him.” Hyojun didn’t respond, and Soyoung turned to see her guard looking perplexed. Shaking her head, knowing that he hadn’t quite followed, she turned back and continued on her way through the royal garden. Her mind wandered back to the Fifth Prince’s wide eyed gaze as she leaned closer to him in her chambers, her eyes narrowed and making it clear she was not going to be accepting any of his protests. His cheeks had been flushed, giving off an impression of an innocent puppy. Holding back a soft laugh, Soyoung smiled as she continued on her walk.

How cute.

__________________________________________________________________________

The days between the Empress’s announcement and the day Jinyoung would depart for Yuan with her went by in the blink of an eye, and before he knew it, he was standing outside the palace as the servants loaded the last of their luggage into one of the caravans. Jinyoung gazed up at the palace he had spent his entire life living in. He had never imagined one day that he would be married out of the palace, much less marrying off to a country far away. All of a sudden, he understood how foreign princesses felt in the moments before they left their home to be married to princes and emperors in other countries. Swallowing hard, he turned and looked at his father and brothers, who had come to send him off along with Yugyeom and Youngjae. 

“Father, please take care of yourself.” He said, “I will write home often.” The king nodded and squeezed Jinyoung on the shoulder.

“Take care of yourself in Yuan.” He said, “Remember that you are a foreigner in their country. You must acclimate yourself to their rules and way of life as quickly as possible.” Jinyoung nodded. 

“I will do my best to maintain peace between our countries.” He assured.

“Write to me if you need anything.” Jaebeom said, “I will try my best to answer you quickly.” Jinyoung nodded.

“Please take care of yourself, hyung-nim.” He said, “I leave Father in your care.” Jinyoung took a few steps back, then dipped into a formal bow, his hands trembling slightly as they touched the warm stone ground in front of him.

“I will not disappoint you, Father, Brother.” He promised. Jinyoung rose to his feet, turned, and entered the carriage that was waiting for him. Normally, he would have chosen to ride on a horse, but the journey to the center of Yuan territory was too time consuming and arduous to complete on horseback. Empress Soyoung was already waiting for him inside the carriage, having said her goodbyes to the king before Jinyoung. Dressed in a light aqua green dress, she was the epitome of calm and poise, her slender fingers holding a book calmly in front of her. Jinyoung knew, however, that she hadn’t truly been reading while he said his goodbyes.

“Were you eavesdropping?” He asked. 

“And if I was?” She replied coolly, “Even if I tried, I couldn’t have avoided hearing things.” 

“Are you always this calm with everything?” Jinyoung asked, unable to hold back his curiosity, “You are currently sitting in a carriage with a man you’ve barely known for more than a week.” Jang Soyoung’s gaze rose lightly above the top edge of her book, her dark gaze sending a slight shiver down Jinyoung’s back. The look in her eyes made it clear she would tolerate no nonsense.

“As opposed to what?” She replied, “Gushing like a child over your goodbyes with your family? Squealing over how excited I am about the upcoming wedding? Park Jinyoung, I am not your average woman.”

“That’s not what I meant-” Jinyoug began, but cut off as he heard Im Hyojun, the empress’s personal guard that he had seen at the teahouse and the banquet, call out from his place at the front of the group of travelers.

“Set off!” He called, and the carriage jolted slightly as the horses began moving. Jinyoung quickly pulled back the curtain covering the window in the side of the carriage, and waved to his friends and family as the carriage pulled away. Jang Soyoung sighed as the carriage turned the corner and the castle disappeared into the distance.

“It’s not like you won’t see them again.” She said, “You’re acting like it’s the end of the world.” Jinyoung glanced over at her, but bit his tongue to keep himself from lashing out at the empress.

It’s easy for her to say! She’s not the one who’s marrying into a foreign nation!

“You can come back to Goryeo once a year to visit if you’d like.” The empress stated suddenly, startling Jinyoung from his thoughts. He frowned and peered suspiciously at the empress.

“Really?” He asked. Jang Soyoung scoffed softly, closing the book in her hands with a soft thwack.

“I am not a tyrant, Park Jinyoung.” She said firmly, “You are going to be my husband, not an exotic pet I have to keep locked up. I have no reason to keep you separated from your family forever.” Jinyoung hesitated for a moment, then nodded slightly.

“Thank you.” He said begrudgingly, “Truly.” 

“Mm.” Jang Soyoung replied. The engaged couple sat for a few moments in awkward silence before the empress reached for a stack of papers that had been sitting next to her and handing them to Jinyoung.

“Here. Read these on our way to the capital.” She said. Jinyoung looked at the papers skeptically.

“What are they?” He asked. 

“Some basic information about our court, the names and pictures of the highest ranking court officials and information about them, the most important members of the royal family, and things like that.” Jang Soyoung replied, “It’s all information that will be useful in the future.” Jinyoung raised an eyebrow.

“You want me to have all of this down by the time we get to Yuan?” He asked, “Do you realize that this is information you spent your life learning?” Jang Soyoung smiled, fixing her unwavering gaze on him.

“You are the most intelligent man in Goryeo.” She said, “Surely you can learn it all, right?” Jinyoung swallowed hard, then bit back the protests that were rising in his chest. In the blink of an eye, the empress had managed to put his reputation and intelligence on the line, all based on a stack of flimsy paper! If he didn’t manage to even memorize such basic information, both he and Goryeo would surely lose face. 

“Fine.” He said, “Very well.” The couple sat in silence as they traveled, the only sound in the carriage the sound of pages flipping as Jinyoung read through the materials the empress had given him. His fingers stilled as he reached the middle of the stack, his gaze pausing on the person drawn on the paper. The person was an austere looking man with cold serious eyes, his lips pressed together in a thin line that gave off the impression of being cold and ruthless. Jinyoung’s gaze traveled over to the name written on the side of the paper.

Temur Qayisan...Korean name Jang Jaewon. 

Jang Soyoung looked over as she noticed Jinyoung’s fingers still, and scoffed softly.

“I see you’ve found my Uncle, the Grand Preceptor.” She stated. Jinyoung raised an eyebrow as he looked at her.

“Your Uncle?” He repeated.

“Mm.” The empress replied, “Do me a favor and try to stay away from him.” Jinyoung frowned in confusion.

“But why?” He asked, “I’ve long heard that he is a powerful player in court.” Jang Soyoung looked thoughtful for a moment before smiling mysteriously and simply shaking her head.

“Just...avoid him if you can.” She repeated. Jinyoung looked back down at the drawing in his hand, confused as ever about what the empress was talking about.

Jang Jaewon...just who are you?

____________________________________________________________________________

Khanbaliq, Yuan Territory

The sound of birds chirping could be heard in the royal garden of the Mongol palace. The soft sounds of the rushing man made stream bubbled in the air, the soft spots of color that were butterflies dancing across the carefully tended flowers. In a pavilion near the middle of the royal garden, a tall man in mahogany red robes stood watching over the scene, his hands clasped behind his back. As he stood  there, a figure dashed up to him and bowed.

“News has just arrived.” The newcomer said, “The empress is on her way back from Goryeo, and she is bringing one of the princes with her.” The man in the pavilion chuckled softly.

“So one of the Goryeo boys did catch her eye after all.” He said, “Find out which prince she is going to marry. I need complete information on the future prince consort.” 

“Yes Sir!” The soldier said, and dashed off into the distance. As the man left, Jang Jaewon smiled ever so slightly. 

Little niece...I wonder which prince managed to catch your eye.

[copperbadge]

Book Review: The Curious Case Of Sidd Fitch

On April 1, 1985, a piece by George Plimpton was published in Sports Illustrated, called "The Curious Case of Sidd Finch". It presented a new rookie pitcher for the Mets: Sidd Finch, an aspirant Buddhist monk and French horn aficionado, who could throw a pitch around 160mph. If you're not familiar with baseball, a 90mph pitch is a good ticket to the majors, and the fastest pitch on record is around 105mph. The article was a joke, of course -- April Fool's -- but the reaction especially among Mets fans was electric. Within sports journalism it's widely considered to be one of the best hoaxes of all time.

Plimpton eventually expanded the article into a novel in 1987, and I finally got around to digging it up and reading it -- it's what I've been reading on the train to the last few Railcats games of the season. The Curious Case of Sidd Finch, as a novel, is in a way a time capsule; it captures a very weird era for the country and a pre-player's strike, pre-Moneyball era for baseball. But it's not really a book about baseball, despite Plimpton being primarily a sports journalist. It's easily accessible if you don't know a ton about the game, primarily because neither does Sidd Finch.

Rather, the book struck me as drawing heavily on what I think of as the "parable novel", a genre popular in the seventies -- part religious/philosophical treatise and part self-help book disguised as a fictional narrative (the most famous is probably Jonathan Livingston Seagull by Richard Bach).

The novel's narrator and fictional author is Robert Temple, a former journalist living in Florida and suffering from a decade-long writer's block; he literally can't write anything, including shopping lists and notes to self. (I'll come back to this.) By a chance of fate he learns that the Mets have a rookie player named Sidd Fitch who can throw a 160mph fastball with uncanny accuracy, but who is still uncertain he actually wants to sign with the club. After getting thrown out of his boarding house for bringing a girl over, Sidd and his girlfriend Debbie Sue end up living with Temple at the request of the Mets, who hope Temple can convince him to sign with the team while he attends spring training in Florida.

It's a really compelling read with enjoyable characters, and there's some good tension set up in the question of whether Sidd will sign with the Mets, and whether it would be good for both Sidd and the sport as a whole for him to do so. And I appreciated that the one full pro game Sidd pitches isn't the climax of the book -- this is not a book about sport but a book that uses sport to meditate on other matters.

It does have its issues, however. Temple, the narrator, draws the reader in because we understand that he was a writer and no longer is, but we don't know why -- we know he's suffered some terrible psychological blow, just not exactly what: 

If he had taken the time to check it out, he would have discovered that I was not capable of writing a paragraph, much less a line of copy. I was a completely defused member of the communications industry. 

[....]

I took my sister by the elbow afterward and I said, “Well, that’s my problem, isn’t it? I’m not really alive. I’m perhaps a quarter alive.”

“You’re coming along,” she said. 

I think it would have been best for that information to come out slowly in drips here and there, perhaps eventually being told more fully when Temple explains to Sidd or Debbie Sue why he can't write. Instead we get an early-on chapter about it -- basically a brief autobiography where he goes to Vietnam to cover the war as a journalist, has a breakdown, and retires to Florida where he fills empty days with pointless tasks as a way of keeping himself alive. It's...not the most interesting chapter. And then he can’t really explain it to the others because we’ve already sat through it once. 

This complicated history is also a problem with Sidd, our young pitcher -- Sidd is struggling with both his faith and what his purpose in life should be, and that’s immediately something people can identify with. The issue is that Plimpton, the actual author, built on the biography he created for Sidd in the Sports Illustrated article, which was a joke and thus comedically complicated. Sidd is an orphan from England adopted by an English anthropologist who then died in a plane crash when Sidd was a teenager, and he found Buddhism while looking for his father in the Himalayas. Sidd also, randomly, is very good at the French horn. This is a complex backstory for a baseball player and it's not entirely well-told within the boundaries of the book, though it's also a pretty ripping adventure story as Sidd runs away from boarding school to look for his dad and eventually ends up an aspirant monk who uses Buddhists lung-gom teachings to train himself to throw a 160mph baseball.

We never really get to the heart of why Sidd walked up to a Mets talent scout one day and decided to get himself recruited; there are hints here and there, and it does lead to a masterful set of discussions about why baseball is a game for mystics:

“Why baseball?” Frank Cashen asked. “Why didn’t he go back to England and play cricket?” 

Dr. Burns put his fingertips together. “Baseball is the perfect game for the mystic mind. Cricket is unsatisfactory because it has time strictures. The clock is involved. Play is called. The players stop for tea. No! No! No!” Burns sounded quite petulant. “On the other hand, baseball is so open to infinity. No clocks. No one pressing the buttons on stopwatches. The foul lines stretch to infinity. In theory, the game of baseball can go on indefinitely.” 

[...]

“I got very interested in the idea of causing a commotion at Point B when standing a long distance away at Point A. To throw an object that connects those two points is a very heady thing to be able to do...especially if you can do it time and time again with accuracy. It is something archers and hunters know all about -- the trigonometric closing of lines.” 

[...]

I suddenly had a clear image of what Sidd was doing to the game. It was what the listeners were suggesting -- he was changing the properties and the essence of the ball itself. It struck me how often the ball is inspected during a game, as if anyone who touches it has to make sure the ball has not changed its properties. If the ball disappears over the fence, another, like a youngster’s dream pinball game, emerges from a black sack at the umpire’s side. He looks at it and gives it to the catcher, who rubs it briefly, and after a glance fires it out to the pitcher; he looks at the ball and rubs it with both hands, his glove dangling from its wrist strap, and then, as he stares down at the catcher for the signal, his fingers maneuver over its surface feeling for the comfort of some response -- yes, this time it will do exactly as he wishes! [...] Football players do not have this kind of kinship with their ball. Most of the players don’t even touch the thing during the course of a game. It sits stolidly on the grass. The center comes up over the ball from the huddle and barely giving it a glance turns it under his hands; his eyes are staring across the line of scrimmage at the unpleasant visage of the nose guard opposite. A defensive tackle is so uncomfortable with the ball that if he chances to pick it up on the practice-field he tends to throw it end over end to get rid of it. [...] Tennis balls are not kept on the mantlepiece. Too many of them around. Who cares?  

But there's never that moment where Sidd says, this is why I came to America to play baseball. Especially since he knows so little about it going in. I suppose Plimpton had to make him a foreigner so he wouldn't know much about the sport, but honestly, you can grow up in America and not know much about baseball, especially at the pro level. Though I do enjoy some of the eccentricities of the game that Plimpton chose to focus on: 

“They have shown me the heavy ring that one slides on the bat to make it seem lighter. I had thought originally that the heavy ring was a talisman to bless the wood. No! One has only oneself to rely on within the confines of the batting box.” 

There's also some pretty lowered stakes in this book because everyone, even Sidd, is wealthy. Temple can afford to do nothing all day for a decade while still seeing an expensive private therapist about his writer's block (and eventually supporting Sidd and Debbie Sue when they move in) because his family is rich and supportive. Sidd, an innocent who travels with very little, still has access to his father's fortune and has a mansion waiting for him in England. Debbie Sue, the free-spirited beach bum that Sidd falls in love with, comes from a wealthy family and was attending an ivy league school before she left it all behind to windsurf full-time in Florida. Even the most desperate people in the book, namely the coaching staff of the Mets, are only desperate to get Sidd to play. Nobody's life or livelihood is riding on anything in the book, which to me makes it slightly less effective as a philosophical treatise because everyone starts from a place of wealth and comfort. On the other hand, it does allow the reader to engage fully with the psychological side of things, and there’s something to be said for not having to worry about where Sidd’s next meal is coming from:

Rather haltingly, Sidd asked me if I would come to New York and see him through August and September...perhaps share an apartment. He didn’t feel he was going to feel at ease in the city. Over the phone he made one of his brilliant vocal imitations -- the sound of a taxi horn, a police siren, and the sigh of a bus pulling away from its passenger stop.

“There are no mantras,” he said, “to take care of this sort of thing.”

All that said, it is a really fun book. Everyone in it is charming and funny, Sidd's bewilderment over the rituals of pro baseball is touching, and there's an interesting hint of threesome-ness (probably unintentional) to the bond between Sidd, Debbie Sue, and Temple. As a baseball fan I appreciated the thought Plimpton put into how and where the characters and the sport interacted, and you can tell he has a genuine love of the game. He also appears to have done his research about Buddhism -- it's not just a stand in for woo-woo esotericism, the way it was a bit in the original article. There is some of that, but there is also a lot of genuine discussion of Buddhism which seems, in my admittedly very limited experience, to be correct.

Sidd smiled...very much as Dennis Brain probably had on the stage of the Jubilee Hall. “There’s a saying of Buddha,” he said. “Be earnest in cessation although there is nothing to cease; practice the cessation although there is nothing to practice.” 

So yeah, do recommend The Curious Case Of Sidd Finch if you’re interested in baseball or just in a pretty good story about a baseball player. 

[mykidsgay]

"Hello, we are two moms with an 11-year-old son who is gay (even though he may not yet realize it). We are looking for parenting advice on how to support him. He recently started wearing eyeliner at home, but we are unclear as to how to navigate this since he attends a Catholic elementary school? Any advice?"

Question Submitted Anonymously Answered by Julie Tarney

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Julie Says:

Brava, Mamas! You’re allowing your child the freedom to express and present himself however he likes at home. Letting him exert some independence when it comes to personal style can go a long way to build self esteem and boost self confidence. As for how that loving parental support will pave a safe path inside the walls of a Catholic elementary school, I think you have both immediate and long-term options to consider before you proceed.

Right out of the gate, private schools often have strictly enforced dress codes. And as a general rule, creative expression outside of traditional gender norms is not accepted. So my first suggestion is to check your son’s student handbook to see where his school stands on a dress code.

Beyond uniform standards for boys and girls, I imagine there will be guidelines regarding jewelry, hair color, make-up, and nail polish. I did a random search online for dress codes at Catholic elementary and middle schools and found that most had a “NO makeup is allowed” rule—but there are always exceptions. For example, one school stated, “At the discretion of the parent, a young woman may wear makeup and fingernail polish that is in modest taste and appropriate for a Catholic middle school student.” The same school discouraged students in grades K-5 from wearing makeup or colored fingernail polish to school. However, if parents allowed it, the makeup and polish was expected to be “minimal and modest.”

If your son decides he wants to wear eyeliner to school, you can suggest that the two of you take a look at the dress code policies. If it’s clear that makeup at school is not allowed, then case closed. If there’s no rule listed about boys wearing makeup, but it’s outlined as clearly forbidden in the dress code for girls, he may be able to draw his own conclusion. On the other hand, if he’s the gender rebel my son was at that age, he might want to push the boundaries. Even with your approval, chances are he’ll be asked to wash it off or be sent home. And I’m willing to bet that ��no makeup” would quickly become the general rule.

One of the Catholic school dress codes I found online allowed both girls and boys to wear a limit of two bracelets. If your son’s school is also open to wrist jewelry for boys, maybe he could express his creativity at school with a unique friendship bracelet or two.

You’re nearing the end of the school year now, so you two have some time to observe how important your son’s gender expression is to his well being going forward. While the administrators at his school may not know that CoverGirl cosmetics hired a teenage cover boy last fall, I bet your son knows. And if he has an Instagram account, your child is probably well aware that boys wearing makeup is a thing.

So the question you might soon be considering is: Can our son stay happy and focused on learning if he feels like his personality and creative expression is being quashed?

While a new GLAAD and Harris Poll study found that 20% of millennials identified outside the traditional binaries of “gay/straight” and “ man/woman,” I wonder how the teachers at his Catholic school will respond to a kid who doesn’t fit the binaries they believe are God’s rules. I raise these points because I worry about your son’s self-esteem beyond elementary school. I don’t know what they teach about sexuality in middle school religion classes these days, or if there’s even any mention of gender identity. But I do know the nuns at the school my son’s dad attended taught him that being attracted to someone of the same sex was more than wrong; it was an “abomination,” and something to be feared, ashamed of, and fixed.

I’m also concerned for your son’s wellbeing because of the wrath my own son had to face as a 15-year-old foreign exchange student in Spain. How he ended up at a Catholic high school is a story all on its own. But one of the girls in his class asked him if he was gay. When it got back to the Mother Superior that my son was attracted to boys, she called him into her office and told him he needed psychological help. As loving and supportive parents, I can’t imagine you two putting up with anyone in a position of authority bullying your child like that at any age. You have every right to ask the principal about the school’s policies regarding the rights of LGBTQ+ students.

Based on how things go for your son for the remainder of this semester, you may want to think ahead to the prospect of Catholic middle school. My advice is to think like mama bears and consider what will be the best learning environment for his sense of self to thrive.

Lastly, I want to circle around to the belief that your son is gay. Until he tells you he has a crush on another boy, or comes out and says he’s gay, try to reserve judgment. Maybe he is gay. Maybe his gender expression led you to that conclusion. There’s also the possibility that his desire to wear eyeliner is an exploration of his gender identity, or may simply be about gender expression. But just maybe he’ll wind up telling you he’s bisexual, pansexual, asexual, or straight. You really won’t know until he tells you, so let observation and time be your guides. I remember thinking my kid was gay before I understood the terms gender nonconforming, transgender, genderqueer, and nonbinary. I encourage you to let your son go through his own process of figuring out what identity words feel right for him.

Whatever your son’s sexual orientation or gender identity, I’d like to suggest you continue your navigation to ensure his schools are as encouraging and accepting of him as you are in the happy and safe place he calls home.

***

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[longlivemystories]

A Fire Hotter Than Any Dragon’s

Chapter Twenty one:  Begonia

     "As a Queen, there are many topics you must learn about, Aurora," Malta started, sitting in a comfortable- looking chair across the table from me. "The first thing that you need to know is our history with our neighboring countries. "We are called Ingrijitor and we are the second largest country and we have the most people. Puternic is the largest country and we have the most people. Puternic is the largest and run by Vradmik and Natasia. They actually have the least amount of people due to their only land mass being an island. Just about all of their people are in their military and they are a dangerous people, Aurora. Their Royal family is always hungry for more land and are willing to do just about anything to get it."

    "How can they be the largest country with only a small island as their land?" I inquired, bewildered.     "Most live on boats, my dear. Here, the water is included in our boundaries," she answered with a small smile. "Lastly, there's Mic controlled by King Nastem and that is our smallest country. Nastem lost his husband about a century ago to the war," she sighed softly. "They were good men, my dear."     "There was another war?" I inquired.     "Two while you were one. One was waged by your father right after you were taken. He thought Vradmik had pulled something dirty and had kidnapped you. He wasn't the same until the day he died... Your father had seemingly gone mad, but several hours before his death he had a sudden clarity. He told me not to trust Stefnir and I haven't since," she told me.     "Why did he say that?"     "I haven't a clue, my dear. But I trust Vamor."     "He... My father died a couple years ago, right? How?" I asked softly, fiddling with the hem of my shirt.     "Poisonned."     I snapped my head up, my chest tightening.     "W-Why?" I sputtered.     "I imagine it has something to do with Stefnir," she answered, bitterness clear in her tone. "I was poisoned, too, a week ago. I'm less susceptible to poison due to... well, we will get to that later. It's just taking the poison longer to work." "Isn't anyone trying to find a cure?"     "Of course they are, Aurora, but it's not that simple. This poison is complicated and not in pure form so it's much harder to decipher. I banished Stephnir in the hopes that he'd grovel and apologize, but instead he proclaimed that if he found you, I would have to allow him back, so I agreed. I'm glad he found you, but something tells me he knew where you were all along," she practically growled.     I thought about it for a moment. A week ago. it wasn't long after Malta's poisoning that I was kidnapped. Maybe something really was going on. Either way, I mistrusted Stefnir even more now.     "Aurora, before we continue, I want you to promise me to never be in a room alone with Stefnir, okay?" she said, watching me closely.     "I wasn't really planning on it, but I promise."     "Okay, so where was I?" she pondered. "Ah yes, war. We won that was, though it only lasted two years. Vradmik was smart enough to finally allow your father to search his territory. Only, of course, because we may have a similar one, but our militia is much stronger than theirs. Upon finding nothing, your father went ont to search elsewhere.     "The second war was one waged by the emperor leviathan. He-- oh my you look lost. The Emporer's name is Malcha and he was an old fool," she practically spat. "We have a theme here with wars, for he suspected one o our people of stealing something very precious to him: his only son and the only other living leviathan."     "How could  we possibly manage that?" I inquired incredulously.     "Because he and his son can shift, just like us. This time, Nastam and his husband opted to aid us. We had no idea why at the time, though. No matter what we offered to prove his son wasn't there, he wouldn't believe us. We never did figure out why, but he was breaking ice and splashing too much water onto the land for it to be safe. We had to kill him and it hurt out hearts to do so. We would've simply imprisoned him has we been capable."     "That's... So there's no more leviathans?" I murmured quietly.     "I never said that. We found his son shortly after Malcha's death. Turned out he had been hiding out at Nastem's," she sighed, annoyance clear in her voice. “Had fallen in love with your brother who--"     "My what?!" I exclaimed.     "Er... right. Your brother, Zantir, is stationed at Nastem's military base. He's been helping them word off Vradmik's threats  but he used to sit by the water for long periods of time when he was here. Turns out he'd been talking to Mytic, Malcha's son, almost every day. I don't know why Zantir never told us, but they fell in love and Mytic couldn't stand being so far away from your brother and so went after him."     I sat in shock for a moment. I... had a brother. And my brother started a war? I suppose it had been Mytic's  doing, but still...     "When will I get to meet him?" I inquired quickly, looking up at her.     "Soon enough, my dear," she answered. "But be patient. So Greka was lost in battle, drowned when Malcha knocked him into the sea. We think the constant waves and thrashing prevented him from escaping, but Nastem was devastated. Didn't leave his chambers for near a year, but finally his sons, Bolner and Frenta, managed to draw him out. He's still not back to his old self, however still somewhat of an old fool," she sighed softly. "He's content with his small amount of land and people and his people are happy and love him as ruler. he does very well by them, being benevolent and all, but the way he tries to make everything.... we... safe is dangerous. He was willing to give into Vradmik's demands to take his land, but I was not. So I sent your brother to handle that business and he has been doing well."     "Is my brother older than me?"     "No, he is not. He's ten years your junior," she answered, motioning to a painting on the wall.     I followed her hand and blinked a few times. There was a young man standing beside my mother. His hair was long, about to his bottom and he looked very similar to very, the only exception being his rich, ruby hair.     "The only thing he seemed to inherent from your father was his hair color. Unfortunately," she murmured. "Where as you have his timid nature, strong jaw and physical prowess."     "Huh?" I sputtered, looking back at her.     "Yes, love. Your brother and I are warriors because we trained days and nights to be so. However, you and your father have a natural enhancement making it vastly easier to obtain muscle," she explained. "You wouldn't have to try very hard to lift your brother while your brother would have immense difficulty lifting you."     “That doesn't seem fair," I mumbled."     "I've learned that you were a cage fighter for many a years. I can tell simply by looking at you that you still have the muscle built up from then. Added to the training you'll be doing soon, no one will dare even attempt to assassinate you," she commented nonchalantly.

    "A-Assassinated?" I repeated quickly, furrowing my brow in concern.     "Well," she sighed softly, gazing fondly at the painting of the three of them. "You know that I'm sick, dear. Someone will have to take over and you are the rightful heir."     "Mom..."     I felt my throat tighten and burn simply at the thought of losing someone I had only just reconnected with. I turn my head away. Losing my mother. Becoming a leader. This was all too much. I didn't know these people. I knew nothing of their customs or needs. Why? Why me?     "Sweetie."     A wave of lilac washed over me and I felt myself sink into exhaustion.     "My dear?"     I pressed up against her, tired.     "I will teach you everything I know, my daughter. You have the same fears as your father once did, the tightness in your chest, the panic; you always have."     "You... soothed him in the same way you are right now?" I murmured, looking up at her.     "Of course," she said softly. "Let's take a break, hm? Grab something to eat? Maybe see that boyfriend of yours?" she teased.     "M-mom!" I sputtered.     "There was no way you could have hidden your feelings from me, my girl. The way you're attached to him? The way you look at him? And oh my word the way he looks at you?" she chuckled, offering me a smile as she straightened herself.  "My friends pointed out the same sighs between your father and I many years ago."     "I... thought maybe you would be well... ashamed that I have strong feelings for a wizard," I admitted quietly, shrinking into the chair.     "I'm more ashamed that you can't even say the word love," she snorted. "Now come, I hear the kitchen is preparing your favorite lunch."     "Will--"     "Yes, Charlie will be there," Malta interrupted, a loud laugh following shortly.     I smiled up at her and we made our way to the dining hall.     "Would it be all right to keep it a secret for now? At least from Stefnir?" I inquired lowly, hands stuffed deep into my pants pockets.     "What ever for, Aurora?" she asked, clearly confused.     "I don't trust him either and there are things I need to think through before everything is out in the open," I mumbled.     "Of course," she responded, slipping an arm around my shoulders.