#mere months before Villa chose him

[elmaestrostan]

The US tour heading to New York reminded me about this 2022 NYT article & photo shoot. Of course he was in his Villarreal shirt with a ball 🥲

https://www.nytimes.com/2022/08/09/sports/soccer/unai-emery-arsenal-villarreal.html

Unai Emery Is Back for More

Fired after falling short at P.S.G. and in the Premier League, Emery has rebuilt his coaching reputation at Villarreal. It may not be long before his phone is ringing again.

Aug. 9, 2022

NEW YORK — It has been more than three years now, but Unai Emery still remembers the moment as if he had just witnessed it. When he brings it up, all the frustration he felt on that day in March 2019 comes rushing back.

Pierre-Emerick Aubameyang has just claimed the ball, the clock has ticked beyond the 90th minute and the referee has brought calm to the chaos. Arsenal has won a penalty, a last-gasp opportunity to win the match. It is also a chance for Emery, in his first season as Arsenal’s coach, to drag his team into the Champions League at the expense of the club’s bitter North London neighbor, Tottenham Hotspur.

But Aubameyang, usually a lock from the penalty spot, fails to score. That shot, that missed opportunity, was the moment, as far as Emery is concerned, that ended not only Arsenal’s hopes of playing alongside European soccer royalty, but also his hold on his job as Arsenal’s manager.

“We played a good season, and we were very close, but this moment…,” Emery says, allowing the sentence to trail off. He has made his point.

For Emery, now two seasons into what has been by most metrics a hugely successful effort to rebuild his career at the Spanish club Villarreal, it is not only soccer games that are defined by moments: a missed penalty or a late save, a blown lead or a match-winning goal. Entire careers, he knows as well as anyone, can also be upended — or sent off on new, unexpected trajectories — by a single moment here or there.

Emery, 50, did not fall all the way down the ladder after his firing at Arsenal. He was out of work only months before he landed the next summer at Villarreal, where he has directed a golden run that he believes has once again established his credentials for one of the sport’s top jobs. At least one Premier League club has come calling. (He said no.) More big clubs will follow. Emery sounds like a man who is ready to listen.

“I think I recovered my level to keep in future my challenge high, high, high,” he said, raising his hands above his head. “I am very ambitious.”

He has already been to soccer’s heights, after all: victories in three European finals with Sevilla, two seasons coaching Paris St.-Germain in the Champions League, then that call to go to London to manage in the Premier League.

In 2018, Emery was tasked with leading Arsenal into the future, with managing its transition from 24 years under Arsène Wenger. The Emery era started well enough, with 11 consecutive victories, the club’s best run of form in more than a decade. But then came the botched penalty, the failure to leapfrog Tottenham in the standings, the bitter loss to Chelsea in the Europa League final. Emery survived the summer, but in November, after an extended winless run, Arsenal showed him the door.

His morale-sapping departure has been traded for a two-year adventure in eastern Spain, a thrill ride that has delivered Villarreal’s first major trophy, moments of glory against some of soccer’s mightiest teams and proof, at least to Emery, that he can still be considered one of the game’s finest coaches.

His most eye-catching successes came last season, when he took his team — a mix of rugged veterans, big-club castoffs and promising youngsters — on an improbable jaunt through the Champions League. Villarreal eliminated Juventus and Bayern Munich before threatening a comeback of cinematic proportions against Liverpool in the semifinals.

That journey, Emery said, was built on players who rose to the occasion when their moment came. Much of Villarreal’s success was forged on the training field, he said, by practicing set pieces and counterattacks, by drilling into players the idea that they had to dig in and stick to a plan.

“That is the difference you can reduce with other teams,” Emery said. In his view, coaches can improve their players and their teams by 10 or 15 percent. The rest is up to them, to a blend of preparation, belief and poise in critical moments.

“How can I explain it?” he said. “Last year, we were worse when we played against Arsenal in the semifinals of the Europa League. We were worse than them. They were better than us. But our work before arriving to play against them — we created a very good mentality, and that is when one coach could make his team better than one that has better players.”

It was a formula he brought to bear again in the Champions League last spring. Before each two-legged tie in the knockout rounds, Emery said, he told his players that they should expect to suffer and be outplayed for large spells, but that they should believe their chance would come to unsettle the opponent, either defensively or offensively. “When they start to suffer,” Emery said, “is when you can win.”

The moments were unforgettable. A 3-0 victory at Juventus. A stunning first-leg victory over Bayern Munich in Spain, and then an 88th-minute goal to eliminate the Germans on their home field. Against Liverpool, Villarreal overturned a 2-0 first-leg deficit within 41 minutes to leave its opponent shaken and its stadium rocking.

Liverpool regained its footing and survived — other teams get to have their moments, too — but the Champions League run has raised the profile of Villarreal’s best players. Some will move on. Their coach admits he probably will as well one day.

He has already knocked back the advances of some suitors, including an approach from Newcastle United after the Premier League club was acquired by Saudi Arabia’s sovereign wealth fund. “It was not the right moment,” Emery said of his decision last November. Newcastle, for all its new riches, was last in the table at the time, and Villarreal was in the Champions League.

That competition, he and his players knew, could change perceptions in ways that success in the Spanish league could not.

At the beginning of his tenure, Emery said, he had planned to focus on the league. “But when we beat Atalanta and when we played against Juventus, the Champions League was, for me, more important,” Emery said. The club was getting recognition for its successes, and for players and coaches alike the performances could catapult their careers in new directions. “I know I have individual challenges as well,” Emery said.

Emery had arrived at Villarreal bruised by the nature of his Arsenal exit. Those wounds are not completely healed. He described the departure in Spanish as a golpe — a blow. By the time he was fired, Emery was facing criticism that at times felt more personal than professional: Long before the end, former players and parts of the news media had taken aim at his command of English.

Those criticisms still smart: When a fan at a preseason match in England recently goaded Emery by asking him to say, “Good ebening,” the coach responded with an obscene gesture that went viral.

At Villarreal, the team’s wealthy owners have provided Emery a platform to find balance in his life, as well as a space to rebuild a belief in his style of coaching. But Emery said he was certain that his success was not a case of a coach’s finding his level, of a leader most comfortable one rung below the elite. “I’m in a very good environment to feel strong, to feel confident again, adding confidence in my work,” he said. “And then, a new challenge.”

His determination to return to the top is perhaps best demonstrated by his extracurricular activities: While he has been re-establishing his credentials in Spain, he has also been working hard on his English. He described his summer trip to New York as a learning opportunity as much as a vacation with his son, Lander. It is perhaps a tacit admission that not all of the criticism during his time at Arsenal was wide of the mark.

He has been ruminating on those moments at Arsenal when he could not quite get his message across, or those crucial early conversations with key players when linguistic barriers made it hard to create the type of coach-player bond essential to winning teams.

“The next time I will arrive with better English,” he said.

That time may come soon. For now, though, Emery is prepared to bide his time, to wait for the right moment.

[ragingbookdragon]

I'm Only A Crack In This Castle Of Glass (Hardly Anything Else I Need To Be) PT. 3

Batfamily x Batsis Story!

Word Count: 2.1K Warnings: Explicit Language, Angst! Tags!: @itsnottilly @cloudyskylines

Author's Note: DUN DUN DUN!!!! Y'all enjoy this now, because it's only gonna get so much more angstier soon. -Thorne

Set Three Months After PT. 2:

She didn’t have to look up to know who entered the shop, because his voice carried over the air. “Melisandre!”

Humming, she immediately plated a pastry and a hot coffee, sliding it on the counter just as he sat down. “Good morning, Wally,” she greeted, watching him take a bite. “Right on time, as always.”

He smiled, cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk. “Morming Merisamdmur,” he replied, and she rolled her eyes with a snort.

“Jeez Wally, didn’t your mom teach you to not talk with your mouth full?”

Shrugging, he swallowed and said, “I was trying to be polite.”

“I think it’s more polite to chew with your mouth closed and speak after you swallow.”

They glared at each other before one of them cracked a smile and they fell into laughter. She tossed a napkin his way. “How’s your day going so far?”

Wally groaned and laid his head on the cool marble countertop. “I’ve got so much to do today, it’s not even funny.”

“Well, well, Wally the procrastinator is finally feeling his toes at the fire, huh?” She ignored his glare. “What do you have to do?”

“Barry needs my help with my cousins and my friends are coming over today to hangout and I haven’t bought any food or drinks for that and I have yet to even start cleaning my house.”

She giggled and reached over, patting his head sympathetically. “There, there, Wally. Everything will be alright. Why don’t you just bring your cousins over to your house and watch them while you hang out with your friends?”

“Because my cousins are annoying and I’m not subjecting my friends to that,” he countered and propped his chin on his palm. “Unless…”

She cocked a brow and waited for him to continue and he offered, “You come over with my cousins and help me watch them?”

“No.”

“What! Why?”

“Well for starters, I don’t know your friends and it would be weird for me to just show up.” She countered.

“They’ll like you though!” he cried, and his hand shot out, wrapping around hers. “Please, Melisandre!”

“Wally, I’ll just watch your cousins at my apartment and Iris can just come get them later, that’ll be easier and won’t force me to sit in a group of people who don’t know me.” He tried to speak but she tossed another napkin, hitting him in the face. “I’m watching Dawn and Don so you and your friends can hang out without being bothered, and that’s final.”

His face pinched. “You sure you can keep up with them?”

Something passed between them and she quirked a brow. “I can keep up with you, can’t I, Wally?”

Wally chuckled and nodded. “Yeah, that’s a fair point.” He glanced at her. “They would like you though.”

She ignored the comment in favor of, “Tell me about them. What are they like?”

He inhaled sharply and took a moment to think. “Donna’s strong willed, Roy’s loud, Lilith likes to get in your head, Garth is easy to annoy, and Dick’s kinda the glue that keeps us together.”

“Dick? He get that from Richard by asking nicely?”

Wally barked a laugh. “Oh, I’m definitely gonna tell him you said that.” He nodded. “But yeah, his name is Richard Grayson, but he goes by Dick.”

Her eyes almost bulged out of her head and she was lucky that Wally was looking at his watch then.

Don’t ask. Don’t do it. Leave it alone.

But she couldn’t stop herself.

“Richard Grayson?” she feigned. “Why does that name sound familiar?”

Wally met her eyes. “Bruce Wayne.”

She snapped her fingers. “Right! The ward.” Wiping the counter, she added, “I heard they added a new addition to that family too. A daughter, right? Cassie? Cassidy?”

“Cassandra,” Wally corrected. “Yeah, that’s Dick’s new sister.” He put his elbows on the counter. “She’s nice, doesn’t talk a lot though.”

“The quiet one, then?”

He laughed. “Of them all.”

Don’t dig any deeper, (Y/N). Keep your fucking mouth shut and let it go.

“I always wondered what happened to that other daughter he had,” she murmured, and Wally’s face blanched like he’d witnessed a murder.

“What?”

She met his gaze. “He had another daughter. I think her name was (Y/N).”

He swallowed thickly. “He does.”

“Does? She’s still around?”

“Yeah, she’s in some Italian villa.”

“Wait really? I thought she died or something?”

“What? No! She left—” Wally snapped his mouth shut like he was about to reveal a secret, but she knew anyways. “She left and went to Europe for a mental retreat.” He finalized and she wondered if that was the story Dick told him to say if anyone asked. Or maybe it was Bruce.

“It’s been like three years now, right? You’d think she’d post something on social media.”

“The whole point of a mental retreat, Melisandre, is to get away from social media.”

Oh please, I know plenty of elite who do that shit and still post crap on their socials.

“There’s no way that girl hasn’t.”

“Why do you say that?”

She scoffed. “Oh please, she’s the daughter of a multi-billionaire. There’s no way a girl that wears Gucci belts and carries Prada purses keeps herself off social media.”

Wally’s eyes narrowed like he was thinking hard about something and she internally cursed.

Oh, smooth move you dumbass.

She coughed and waved a hand. “Well, it’s all theory anyway.”

After a moment, he nodded. “Yeah…theory.” Wally got to his feet and handed her the empty plate. “I should go ahead and get back to my place and clean up before they get here.”

“Have fun,” she smiled, and he grabbed her arm.

“Take a pic with me.”

“What? Why?”

“So, I can tell my friends about you and prove I’m not lying.” He pouted. “Pretty please, Melisandre?”

Don’t do it. Dick will know. You know he’ll know.

She smiled despite her internal thoughts. “Sure.”

Wally grinned and raised the camera where she was in the background. She threw up a peace sign and gave a cheesy grin, momentarily blinded by the flash of the camera.

She spun and filled a bag with pastries then handed it to him. “Here, so you can give even more proof.”

Wally took the bag and hopped onto the counter, leaning down to press a kiss to her cheek. “Thanks Melisandre!” And he was dashing out the door.

You’ve ruined it all. This is going to come back to bite you in the ass. And it’s going to come quicker than you think.

She frowned and wiped down the counter again, trying to ignore her thoughts. Maybe. Just maybe, it wouldn’t.

***

Waving Barry and Iris off, she smiled as the twins climbed into the backseat of their car and the taillights signaled their departure. She closed the door behind her and glanced at the mess the two tornadoes had left. Even for the little she had in her apartment, they sure did know how to make a mess.

She sighed as she bent over to pick up one of the cushions when her doorbell rang and she stood up, confusion coming over her as she made her way to the door.

“Hello?” she asked, and a muffled voice echoed from the other side.

“Melisandre, it’s me, Wally. Can I come in?”

She opened the door, surprised to see him. “Wally? What are you doing here? I thought you were with your friends?”

“Yeah, I told them I had to do something really quickly,” he said as entered her apartment. He took a moment to examine her living room. “Man, Dawn and Don did a number here, didn’t they?”

She chuckled. “We had fun building forts.” Nudging him in the side, she added, “I don’t mind the mess.” She looked at him. “Do your friends know? About you being…you know?”

He nodded. “We’re all special in some way.”

Understatement there, Wally.

“So, why tell them you need to do something then come to me? Is everything alright?”

Busying herself with the couch cushions, she waited for him to explain, but nothing could’ve prepared her for his words.

“It will be once I get to the bottom of it…(Y/N).” She froze for a split second, but it was all he needed. “It really is you, isn’t it?”

(Y/N) stood upright and gazed at him. “When did you know?” Her voice was a lot colder than she meant for it to be.

“I had suspicion for a while, but when I showed the picture to everyone, Dick said it looked like you.”

“Really?” she laughed. “I thought I did a good job changing my appearance from three years ago.”

Wally didn’t laugh, he merely gaped at her. “Why?”

“Why what?” (Y/N) knew what he was referring to.

“Why’d you just leave?” He took a step towards her. “Do you have any idea what your family has gone through since you disappeared on them? The grief? The shame?”

She shrugged. “I explained everything in the letter I wrote my dad, Wally. There’s no reason why they should still be concerned with me.”

“They love you!” he shouted, taking her by surprise. “They love and miss you so much!”

“My family ignored me for eighteen years straight, Wally!” She yelled right back. “What was I supposed to do? Sit and pretend being forgotten was all normal?!” (Y/N) couldn’t help but shove at his chest. “I chose to leave because my next choice was taking a swan dive off Wayne Enterprises!”

His eyes went wide, and she shook her head. “I left because the only person who cared about me, was me.” She turned and fixed the final couch cushion while he watched her do so.

“They’re still looking for you, you know. Dick is always staring at his phone hoping there’s a text from Jason or Tim that they’ve found a sign of you.”

(Y/N) sighed. “If you’re trying to guilt trip me, Wally, it’s not going to work.” She shot him a glare. “I got over the fucking guilt the second the flight to Central took off. I got over the fucking guilt the night I laid in a hotel room bed curled into a ball where I cried myself to sleep. I got over the fucking guilt the moment I realized I’ve done so much better on my own than when I was there.”

She marched up to him and got in his face. “I got over the fucking guilt when I realized Barry and Iris Allen were more of a family than four brothers and dad ever were.”

They glared at each other and finally, she let out a sigh. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve already started a new life here and I have no plans of ever going back.”

“At a college that doesn’t have a real name. You know that’s illegal, right?”

(Y/N) scoffed. “What’re you gonna do, Wally? March into four-C and tell them Bruce Wayne’s daughter is going to school under a false name? We both know you wouldn’t.”

“I’ll tell Dick,” he suddenly shot back, and she went rigid.

“You wouldn’t dare,” (Y/N) threatened and he took a step towards her, getting nose to nose with her.

“Try me.”

They stared one another down and she said, “I think you need to leave, Wally West.”

His eyes narrowed. “Yeah, I guess I should.” He spun on his heel and marched to the door, but stopped when she questioned,

“Are you really going to tell him?”

Wally gazed at the ground for a moment then he murmured, “…No…it’s not my place to.”

(Y/N) swallowed and nodded. “Thank yo—”

“Don’t thank me, (Y/N). I’m lying to my best friend about knowing the real location of his baby sister he misses dearly.”

She looked away. “Cassandra is his baby sister now. He should focus on her.”

“You really have no idea about what they feel for you, do you, (Y/N)?” He asked, and she grunted.

“Get out, Wally.”

“Don’t worry, I’m gone,” he spat, slamming the door behind him, hard enough that it shook the walls that held the doorframe.

(Y/N) stared at the door for a few moments then cursed sharply and collapsed onto her couch, eyes directed to the ceiling. Three years down the drain in one conversation.

Way to go, (Y/N). You did a spectacular job of keeping it all under wraps.

She groaned and picked herself off the couch, not caring about the mess as she headed to bed. She’d deal with it all in the morning.

[dudeandduchess]

Yakuza!Kyōjurō x F!S/O: Sugar and Spice (Mafia!AU, Modern AU, NSFW Series)[Chapter 7]

Summary: Kyōjurō and (Y/n) meet at a party, only to find out that their lives would change forever— since they had been arranged to be married.

Warnings: Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Teasing, Pussy Spanking, Thigh Fucking, Shallow Fucking, Creampie, There’s Only One Bed Scenario, Dark Themes

||Sugar and Spice Masterlist||

***

With how beautiful the sunset had been, and how romantic Kyōjurō had been acting, (Y/n) never expected that the night would take a turn for the worse. It was so bad that she was stressing out about it, even though she was completely taken care of at the Rengoku clan’s mountain villa.

She had a nice yukata to sleep in, and all the food that she could want in the kitchen, and people at her beck and call— if she even chose to ask for their help with anything.

The only problem was that she knew her mother was going to be furious once she got home.

Kyōjurō had taken the liberty to call her mother while (Y/n) was taking a shower— ‘to relax’ as the blond had said, before practically pushing her into the bathroom— to explain that he wouldn’t be able to bring her home, since it had begun to rain heavily. Heavy enough to pose as a hazard for driving down the dirt road.

If he wanted, he could have an off-roading vehicle sent to get them, but he wasn’t alone. He didn’t want to risk getting (Y/n) into an accident, when they could just wait things out until the morning.

That, and he figured that it would be nice to actually spend the night with her… and maybe give her a bit of pleasure, since they had been disturbed earlier.

Safe to say that (L/n) Akari wasn’t happy with how the situation had panned out, and had been about to lash out at Kyōjurō. Until, of course, he finally lost the polite and cheerful façade— after checking if (Y/n) was still in the bathroom.

Slowly, Kyōjurō sat down on the end of the bed in his room, before loosening his tie and stretching out his neck. He took his sweet time in making the older woman wait for his response to her threat of having (Y/n) fetched; especially when the venom in her voice suggested that a lecture was the least that she would give (Y/n).

He feared that Akari might even keep heaping on more political tasks on to (Y/n), all to keep her from seeing him. It wasn’t a secret that she didn’t like him for her daughter, after all.

“Don’t forget, (L/n)-san, I…” Kyōjurō began softly, with a sharp edge to his tone that warned his future mother-in-law to listen well to his words. “…can take away everything you love, if you break our agreement. It would be best if you remembered that the moment that my family put you where you are, you signed your life over to me.”

Silence reigned over the line for a couple of minutes, with Kyōjurō relishing in how he had managed to slowly protect (Y/n) from her own mother.

Of course, he knew just how horrible and selfish the woman was. It was why he wondered just how his cute future wife turned out so well. And maybe it was his own fault, but he had delved even further into the file he had on her, and couldn’t help but be completely enamored.

However, he was ill-prepared for the intensity of the real thing. She was so much more than he had thought she would be, especially after he had hung out with her a few times.

“I think it would be best if you cleared my wife’s schedule, and start letting her get to know her future husband better,” Kyōjurō continued after fully undoing his tie— letting it hang around his neck, as he finished up his conversation. “After all, she won’t be living under your roof in a few months.”

With that, he dropped the call and tossed his phone onto the bed. He then heaved a heavy sigh, letting the air fill his lungs, as he closed his eyes and exhaled all of his tension away.

He didn’t want (Y/n) to see that side of him; ever, if he could help it.

“Kyōjurō?” The aforementioned woman’s soft voice rang out from the bathroom and when he looked up, he had to immediately make an effort to not let his tongue hang out like a dog, as she looked so enticing in that red yukata that he’d had someone to get for her. “I’m done. You can take a bath now.”

And with that sweet smile she aimed right at him? Partnered with how cute she looked with her hair still a little damp? He really had to try to keep himself in check.

After all, he didn’t want her to think that he was a monster; in all senses of the word.

***

(Y/n) wasn’t exactly sure how she had ended up the way she had, but it was too late to ask that question. Especially with Kyōjurō smelling so good behind her, while his right arm was wrapped around her middle— with his feet intertwined with hers.

She had tried to ask why they were sleeping in one bed, but all she had gotten from that was a simple ‘the other rooms are locked, and I already sent the head maid home’. It was a poor excuse, but she chose to just buy it— instead of fighting Kyōjurō and dampening the good day that they’d had together.

After all, it was all innocent cuddling… at least at first. As the minutes ticked by, Kyōjurō’s hand had begun caressing up and down her stomach, until it drifted lower to her pelvis.

She could feel his fingers toying with the seam of the yukata— slowly bunching up the material, until she could feel her pussy get even more exposed than it already was; what with her going commando beneath the garment.

“You’re not asleep. Are you, princess?” Kyōjurō whispered in her ear; the words making her feel warm down to her bones, even though the air held a biting chill that came with the rain pouring outside. “I want to make you feel… amazing.”

The way that Kyōjurō breathed out the last word had her clenching her thighs together— and the movement didn’t go unnoticed like she had wanted it to. So, she found herself paying for it with Kyōjurō leaning in even closer and teasingly nipping at her ear.

(Y/n) had it in her mind to say no at first, only to change her tune when the blond finally let his hand cup her pussy; dragging his middle finger up her slit and finding that she was already wet.

In her defense, it was because he smelled so good and felt so amazing against her— especially with his erection brushing against her ass every once in a while.

“Oh? Did I already make you this wet, baby?” Instead of answering, however, (Y/n) merely bit down on her tongue and closed her eyes— especially when Kyōjurō pressed two fingers to her clit, before beginning to circle them around the sensitive nub.

The action had (Y/n)’s hips bucking involuntarily, which brought a grin to Kyōjurō’s lips as he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

“Come on, baby girl. Tell me that you want to feel good too.”

But when silence kept hanging in the air, the blond lifted his fingers from her cunt— all so he could bring them down on her sensitive flesh. The spank was weak, compared to what he could have done, but it elicited his desired reaction.

He wasn’t done though, and landed another light spank on his lover’s cunt. It had her hips bucking once more, while a quiet and breathless moan escaped her lips. And finally, a really enticing, “Please make me feel good, Kyōjurō.”

“Good girl.”

His dick could only get harder once he pressed it up against (Y/n)’s ass— relishing in the feel of her warmth beneath the yukata, as he bunched the hem of it up. And once it was already out of the way, Kyōjurō gently wedged his calf between her own calves— if only to lift her leg up the tiniest fraction for what he wanted to do.

Once that was all settled, the blond freed his cock from his own yukata; holding his length at the base and guiding the tip up to start rubbing it up and down her slit.

He smeared his precum all over her pussy, focusing on circling his head at her clit, and really drinking in the quiet and pleased moans that kept flowing from (Y/n)’s mouth— which only got louder when he pressed the top of his dick flush against her pussy to coat it with her wetness.

And, knowing that was barely enough lubrication, the blond lifted his right hand up to (Y/n)’s mouth. He then pressed the tips of three digits to her lips, prompting her to open her mouth— which she did. All the while, he kept rubbing his dick against her pussy, so tempted to just push into her pussy, but wanting to make her extra needy for him before he gave in to his own urges and fucked her.

“Get them nice and wet, princess.” He’d have tried to make her wetter by playing with her nipples, but he had slid his arm under her head earlier— for her to use as a pillow— so it was laying there, much to his regret.

When his fingers were already wet, he pulled them out of her spent mouth and pressed a kiss to her cheek once more. All while he brought his hand down and used his spit-laden fingers to get his cock even wetter.

The moment that he had managed to get his cock relatively wet, he removed his leg from between (Y/n)’s own pair— moaning aloud when her thighs clamped down tighter around his dick. “Oh, fuck, baby.”

Kyōjurō wasted no time then, placing his hand back on (Y/n)’s clit and playing with it— circling, rubbing, pinching, and gently tugging on the sensitive nub— while he moved his hips to start fucking her thighs. It was made hotter and easier with how her wet she kept getting for him— enough to coat his cock and her thighs entirely with her juices.

That wasn’t the best part, however; it was when Kyōjurō pulled back a little bit too far and had accidentally pushed the tip of his cock inside her pussy— out of reflex.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Kyōjurō cursed through breathless moans, deciding to torture himself even more and push just the head of his cock inside her tight pussy. And he begun to thrust shallowly in her, losing himself in ecstasy just from that.

And he almost lost control and pushed in to the hilt, until he felt (Y/n)’s legs beginning to quiver, while her moans steadily got shakier and shakier. “Please, Kyō! Please fuck me!”

He had half a mind to finally give in to his own needs, but he managed to sway himself from that decision at the last minute. Instead, he began to rub (Y/n)’s clit faster— which had her ultimately coming apart around the head of his cock.

Her entrance was clamping down on him so amazingly, and he could feel her walls fluttering around what part of him was inside her, which made it so hard to pull out and only thrust in only up to the end of the head of his cock.

Kyōjurō felt himself getting so close to his orgasm, losing himself so much in (Y/n)— that he had even leaned down to start sucking hickeys onto the spot behind her ear just to last a little bit longer.

However, the pleasure finally got the better of him and had him instinctively pushing his entire length inside (Y/n)’s sopping cunt. All sorts of curses ricocheted within his head at that, but he didn’t regret what had happened.

Especially when he came so hard and filled her up so well, with his dick buried in her to the hilt.

There went his plans of making her crazy for him but, oddly enough, he couldn’t shake the feeling that what had happened just felt right to him. If she got pregnant from it, then he was prepared to raise their child together— no other thoughts or trepidations swirling around in his mind, like they had before.

With (Y/n) next to him, he felt that he could conquer the world.

Besides, little did he know that she was well on her way to getting positively crazy for him. Addicted: heart, body, and soul.

Especially with the way that she had overheard him standing up for her against her mother.

[chrysalispen]

#1 - Foster

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33640546/chapters/83598181

"She's getting so big," Vittora cen Remianus says. 

"She is." 

L'haiya agrees more to make conversation than aught else. The Miqo'te's two-toned eyes flicker in the direction of that little head with its riotous crown of rolanberry-gold curls - now bent studiously over a modest tower of wooden bricks - before turning her attention back to the drawn, exhausted face of the child's mother. Vittora has never really been what one would call robust, but at least the composer's pallor had been offset by a bit of spring in her step once upon a time. There is color in her cheeks, of course, a bright rosy flush, but L'haiya suspects the credit for it belongs to artifice and a half-bell spent before a dressing mirror, not to improved health.

"And so very, very bright." There is a note of quiet pride in the Garlean woman's voice, one which L'haiya has previously only heard from her when she speaks of one of her completed commissions premiering in the state playhouses. "I aim to have her brought to my studio on her fourth nameday. She is old enough now to begin pianoforte lessons."

"I wish you good fortune. You will need it," L'haiya laughs. "Small children are rarely wont to sit still for long, especially if something of greater interest catches their eye."

Vittora's shoulders lift and drop, the movement loose and listless, as though her arms are lifted by marionette strings. "Then I shall simply have to be the most fascinating thing in the room," she says, and L'haiya's brow creases before she can stop herself. 

"You did not call me here to talk about Aurelia's piano lessons, surely."

The statement, faintly accusatory, falls like lead from her lips. Were it anyone else, she would not have dared to speak thus. The layers of social hierarchy in the Garlean Empire are many and complex, like the fine layers of sponge in a princess cake: upset even one, and it can upend the entire concoction. Vittora is of common stock, but common or not she is still a true Garlean, and one married into one of the realm's most powerful military families at that.

But if the lady of the house is in any way offended by the boldness of her social inferior she does not show it: a rueful smile curves her thin lips. The light in her eyes seems muted, as though refracted through green bottle-glass. "I did not, but this matter very much concerns my daughter."

There is no hiding her worry. Vittora has had occasional spells of illness as long as they have known each other: brief and always fleeting, never longer than a day or two. But the physical strain of carrying a child and the long and difficult labor she endured to bring Aurelia into the world--these have left her a shadow of the sprightly, ambitious woman she once was.

Mingled with the pride in her eyes is sorrow: sorrow, and bone-deep fatigue.

L'haiya swallows past the sudden constriction she feels tightening her throat. "Well," she manages at length, "out with it, then."

"Julian has requested an audience with his brother and with his superiors." L'haiya waits patiently while Vittora coughs into one thinned palm, the sound of it shallow and dry. "The head of the family thinks it best if we take our leave now that Aurelia is old enough to travel."

"...You mean to go to the provinces with him?"

"I do. We were to leave the capital at the first opportunity that presented itself and now that day has come. 'Twas ever a condition of the family's agreement not to disinherit Aurelia for our indiscretion. I fear they have only delayed due to my ill health, and I would not see my child subjected to the ignominy of being declared a bastard." 

For the trouble which I have brought upon them. Vittora's self-recrimination hangs between them unspoken and L'haiya does not press further. She is well familiar with the heavy price that her friend has paid, in both her career and her reputation, to marry for love. It does not bear repeating.

"I will do what needs must for her sake, L'haiya. And in this case, those needs coincide with mine own."

"I don't understand."

"The chirurgeons believe that the harshness of the winter months has greatly contributed to my... present deterioration. Master Severus has advised Julian that if at all possible, he should seek a second villa in the southern provinces." After a moment's hesitation, she adds, "He suggested Rabanastre."

L'haiya's homeland. "And you want me to come with you."

"Yes. Now, I know how you feel about Dalmasca-"

"You don't. Not truly. But that is neither here nor there, I suppose."

Vittora's brow knits with her consternation. "...You would not have to see her if you did not wish it. The villas where officers and their families reside are well removed from the rest of the city."

That is not the problem L'haiya faces, but it is not one Vittora would understand. Many have chosen to resist imperial occupation just as there are many who chose to accept their altered circumstances, and L'haiya has seen and heard what the various splinters and pockets of Dalmascan resistance scattered throughout the Estersands do to perceived traitors. "I fail to see why my presence is required in Rabanastre."

"Someone must care for Aurelia."

"Aurelia has her mother. She needs her mother," L'haiya says flatly. "She does not need me." 

The Garlean woman folds her hands in her lap, eyes half-shut with her lowered gaze. 

"I think I shall not be in her life for very much longer, L'haiya."

"Vittora-"

"You can see the way of things- how it is with me." Leaf-green eyes, seeming enormous in that drawn face, gaze at her with a silent plea in their depths. The distant sorrow has returned and with it a gleam of fear. "The chirurgeons are very careful not to voice their thoughts, but every night when I close my eyes to sleep I can feel another piece of my strength slip away. One more piece I know I shan't have back. They don't need to tell me what I already know."

Understanding strikes her like a bolt of wild levin- or perhaps a brutal punch to the gut. Looking at Vittora with this newfound discovery she can see a knowing look in her friend's eyes. It is as though Vittora can sense the spectral hand of her own mortality reaching forth from some as yet unwritten future to claim her for its own. 

"L'haiya. Please." Vittora's voice is soft, conciliatory. "Julian goes to these lengths because he is not yet willing to face the truth. I need you to be there for her when-"

Vittora doubles over, wheezing, clutching at her chest with one hand. The commotion startles the child out of her play, and L'haiya sees a flash of gold and wide, anxious eyes of a curiously dark blue. Immediately the little girl shoves her toys aside with a loud clatter and clambers to her feet with the clumsiness of the very young. In moments she has reached the grand high-backed chair where her mother sits wreathed in a nest of blankets and soft sheepskin. 

"Mama," she tugs on Vittora's sleeve, tiny features crumpled with anxiety. The motion bounces her hair; her still-developing third eye is visible for just a moment beneath that cap of curls, a sliver of pearlescent white no larger than the tip of a fingernail. Her mother's coughing fit recedes, surf pulled away from the shore by a rising tide. 

"All is well, sunshine." Vittora's hand falls back to her lap and she raises her chin. Her lips are suspiciously reddened, but she smiles at her daughter and runs her fingers through her hair. Tears stand in her eyes but do not spill. "See?"

"Up, Mama." Heedless of aught save her own desire to give and receive comfort, Aurelia attempts to drag herself onto Vittora's lap. L'haiya gently plucks her fingers from one of the coverlets piled atop her mother's legs, then hoists the child into her arms only for her to make her displeasure known with a thwarted whine. "No!"

"Your mama needs her rest."

"Mama," Aurelia insists, her lower lip wobbling. It's a trick she's used on countless servants and even her own parents in the past but L'haiya is unmoved by it, and merely adjusts the girl's weight from her arm to her hip. As the toddler squirms in her arms, the Miqo'te turns her attention back to the child's mother.

"Since it's clear you'll badger me until the decision is made in your favor, pray consider it done," she says at last, somewhat testily. 

"I am eternally grateful." Vittora's smile is in turns sad and knowing, and she cannot bear it for more than a few moments. "Thank you, L'haiya."

Her eyes turn to the wall of white swirling in the storm beyond the window. Somewhere beyond it are the slow blinking lights along the walls that separate the imperial palace complex from the rest of the city, and L'haiya forces herself to shove down the sudden surge of bitterness. 

What else is there to say? To do? She knows she could not have refused. She loves Vittora Remianus with the surety of a beloved sister, and she knows what she would do for her own half-sister should such an unlikely circumstance ever occur, and so she will raise this child for her friend's sake. Of course she will. And just as every other citizen of the Empire must do when called to bend to the whims of its rulers, her own dreams are not so much relinquished as they are flung into the darkness, to be discarded along with all the other parts of herself she has sacrificed to fill an imperfect mold.

She feels as though she has just given her life away. She knows she has.

Outside, the northern wind howls around the villa's steel eaves like a despairing scream.

[the-saints-and-history]

Today's Saint: Saint Josephine Bakhita

Saint Josephine was born in 1869 in Darfur in a village close to Nyala. Her uncle was the village chief, her father was reasonably prosperous, her brothers and sisters loving, as she stated in her autobiography; "I lived a very happy and carefree life, without knowing what suffering (was)." When she was around 8 years old she was taken by Arab slave traders who had also taken her older sisters two years earlier. Before she arrived in El Obeid, she had been bought and sold twice by other traders, over the next 20 years she was sold 3 times and then given away. Forgetting her original name because of the trauma, she was given an Arabic name by the traders; bakhita (lucky/fortunate).

In El Obeid she was bought by a rich Arab to be a maid for his daughters. They liked her and treated her well, one of the sons beat her so severely she couldn't move from bed for over a month because she offended him (possibly by breaking something or not showing respect to him). Her fourth owner was a Turkish general who had her serve his mother-in-law, who was extremely abusive to her slaves. "During all the years I stayed in that house, I do not recall a day that passed without some wound or other. When a wound from a whip began to heal, other blows would pour down on me" she writes. Her most terrifying experience was a "tattooing" traditional in Sudan, that was done with flour, salt, and a razor. Designs would be drawn on the skin with flour and cut with the razor, to ensure permanent scarring, the wounds would be filled with salt. Josephine had 114 of these total on her breasts, stomach and right arm.

When the threat of Mahdist revolutionaries spread through El Obeid in 1882, the Turkish general sold all his land and slaves and returned to his home land. She was bought by the Italian Vice Consul, Callisto Legnani, who was kind to her and patient. When he had to return to Italy, he took her with him. They travelled 400 miles to Suakin, the largest port in Sudan, and left for Italy. After arriving, Legnani gave her to his friend Agusto Michieli, and she nannied his daughter for 3 years at their family villa.

Agusto wanted to sell all his land in Italy to permanently set up residence in Sudan. His wife, daughter, and Bakhita stayed in a hotel. Turina wanted to visit her husband, so she left her daughter with Bakhita with the Canossian sisters in Venice. Bakhita was introduced by Christianity for the first time in her life. The sisters were patient and understanding, grateful for their teaching she recalled; "Those holy mothers instructed me with heroic patience and and introduced me to that God who from childhood I had felt in my heart without knowing who he was." When Turina returned for her daughter and Bakhita, Bakhita firmly refused to return with her. For 3 days, Turina attempted to persuade her to return, this caught the attention of the king's attorney general, and the Institution for Baptismal Candidates that Bakhita attended, who contacted the Cardinal of Venice about Bakhita's dilemma.

An Italian Court in 1889 ruled that because the British had induced Sudan to outlaw slavery before Bakhita was born, and because Italian law didn't recognize slavery, Bakhita was never legally a slave. For the first time in her life she felt in control of her own destiny. She chose to stay with the Canossian sisters. In January of 1890, Bakhita was baptized under the names Josephine Margaret, and Fortunata (Latin translation for bakhita). On the same day, she received Confirmation and her first Holy Communion from Archbishop Giuseppe Sarto, the future Pope Pius X.

The next 40 years of Josephine's life were the most uplifting. In 1902 she was assigned to a convent in Schio where she spent the rest of her life. She left in between 1935-39 to visit other Canossian convents to instruct young Sisters on the missions to Africa. During her years in Schio, she was employed as a cook, a portress and sacristan. She was always cheerful with a smile on her face. She earned the nickname Madre Moretta (Black Mother) from the locals who loved her, and her company. She was a figure of courage for Schio during World War II and the town felt protected by her mere presence. The first publication of Josephine's story (Storia Meravigliosa) was in 1931 by Ida Zanolini.

Her last years were painful and marked by sickness. Although wheelchair bound, she always retained a spirit of happiness. She would always reply with, "As the Master desires" if she was asked how she was feeling. In her final hours, Josephine's mind plagued her with hallucinations of being a slave and she shouted: "The chains are too tight! Loosen them a little, please!" To calm her, the sisters would ask her how she was doing, and say that today was Saturday to remind her it was the day of Our Lady. Calming down and smiling, Josephine said, "Yes, I am so happy. Our Lady... Our lady." These are last audible words.

Saint Josephine Bakhita died on February 8, 1947, she lived to be 77 years old. Her body laid on display for 3 days as thousands flocked to pay their respects to her.

[enygmass]

Denouement

Characters – Jonathan Crane, Edward Nygma

Concept -  Jonathan post-criminal career

Work count - 2933 [I am so sorry]

“The author Oscar Wilde once said that to live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all. Perhaps we should judge the value of our worth on what we have accomplished with our time here, no matter how long or how short it is. Perhaps the one who has done the impossible is more accomplished than the one who has merely survived- “

A hand came down on top of the radio, silencing the broadcaster’s voice from continuing to fill the yard. The hand in question belonged to Jonathan Crane, who was kneeling on a pile of dirt with several plants beside him. The plants were not what you would expect to find in the average American garden; they ranged from Monkshood to Poison Ivy – plants you would expect to find secured in a greenhouse under some private ownership. However, the man who was planting them was a peculiar type, and felt that these plants were of more value than daisies and lilies that others would harvest. After all, lilies can only go so far in a lab.

“Bullshit.”

He spoke in a harsh tone as he pushed himself to his feet, an act that took more effort than it should have. Adjusting the straw hat that sat upon his head, he picked up the portable radio from its spot on the grass and stared down at it with a cold gaze, as if it were being judged for some crime. In reality, it was an old 80’s junk box he had bought from some peddler at the corner of the street, not because he liked it but because it was cheap and it worked. It wasn’t like he was going to be able to buy a stereo system anytime soon.

A brief glance down to the discarded flowers reassured his budding belief that he wouldn’t be able to finish the transplanting today. That was a shame – if he left them out too long, they would begin to go rotten in the sun, and their worth would become as much as a piece of trash. He had to put his needs above his work, though [which was funny – that was never his mindset when he was younger], and right now his needs included sitting in a more comfortable position.

Jonathan liked to believe that he had done fairly well in his “golden years”, as they were so kindly coined. A plea bargain and a promise had resulted in a quick release from Arkham, and although he was quick to jump back into the life of crime, things had seemed far more different than usual. The faces he had become familiar with throughout the twenty or so years of work had seemed to fade out, only to be replaced with new and greed-filled ones. Falcone was a ghost of the past now – the last Jonathan had heard, the man retired after his supposed “death” in a villa in Italy and had passed on surrounded by family. A rather unfitting way to go for the crimes he had committed. Roman, who had been quick to take his place, was gone as well. A permanent cell in Blackgate and no exterior connections assured that. Even the people he had worked with in his field seemed to have taken the brief hop into the next sequence of their lives. From what he gathered Harley had left for Las Vegas with Ivy, which shocked Jonathan because Ivy seemed quite determined to get out of the urban jungle. Then again if she was with Harley she’d probably go anywhere. The same applied to Oswald – it seems he decided to begin settling down with black-market trade versus the arms dealership and illicit politics he had been indulging in before. Jervis was still in Arkham, Freeze was in unknown parts of the world, and so forth.

Edward had probably been the last face Jonathan had been familiar with in the field of crime. His addiction to clues and his desire to trump the Bat at least once had kept him firmly rooted in town, making him easy to find for someone just out of Arkham. But even he, over time, seemed to grow weary of the same motions over and over again, and Jonathan wasn’t really surprised when he woke up one day to an empty home. Edward was never the type to leave a note or say goodbye.  

No, compared to the rest, Jonathan had done fairly well. Those in the neighborhood he lived in knew him as “Mr. Autumn” rather than “Mr. Crane”, a name change that had been nothing more than a precaution. When he first chose the name he thought it would be rather obvious who he was, given his reputation, but that belief was quickly crushed within the first month of living here. Suburbs, to his surprise, were the best places for criminals to live when they tried to get out of crime. Everyone is so caught up in the hectic of their own lives that they failed to acknowledge the serial killer next door – or in Jonathan’s case, the Scarecrow. He didn’t mind the lack-of-realization from his neighbors, however, and now since it had been several years since his last crime, he felt he was off of the Bats radar.

If the Bat was even still around.

Upon entering his home from the garden, he moved immediately to the kettle and hit the lever down. When he was certain it was actually working, he removed his hat and set it on the appropriate rack. Jervis had fueled an obsession with tea within him that seemed prevalent still years later, and Jonathan found himself spending more on tea then he really should be.  He was running through the familiar motions of grabbing a mug and grabbing the sugar when there was a sudden sharp rap on his door, startling him and causing the sugar to spill across the counter.

“Shit-!” Hastily wiping the sugar onto his palm and dumping it into the sink, he wiped the remaining bit on his pants and made his way to the door. Nobody ever really came over to see him. In fact, Jonathan was comfortably known as Mr. Autumn, who was restrictive to his home and occasionally the supermarket in town. This meant that the individual at his door was either his neighbor trying to sell more pamphlets [“But have you heard the word, Mr. Autumn!”], or some other salesman.

“Whatever it is you have, I’m not interested.” The words left his mouth as he undid the bolt and yanked open the door, a scowl fixed on his face. Upon glancing at the figure at the door, his expression shifted to that of dubious surprise.

“I see you’re as pleasant as always!”

The person in question was the very same man who had up and left him so many years ago without a single goodbye. Glancing at him, it seemed he had hardly aged a day, although with closer inspection the salt and pepper hairs and the fine wrinkles gave away his true age. No, Edward Nygma had otherwise avoided the spectacular phenomena of getting old, a process Jonathan had fallen victim to quite ferociously.

“Edward? How the hell are you-?” Jonathan’s questioning was cut off by Edward shoving his way into the home. Some things seemed to never change in people.

“Mr. Autumn? Really? Are your neighbors so daft that they couldn’t figure that out? Ah yes, the new resident, a tall and lanky man named Mr. Autumn, who seems to have appeared out of nowhere and always looks around like he’s about to be shot. Christ, Jonathan, I’m surprised the facebook page for the neighborhood watch hasn’t reported you yet. I’m sure someone named Jan thinks you’re ‘suspicious’.” Edward scoffed at this comment and began to walk further into the home, removing his hat and unceremoniously throwing it onto the sofa as he did so.

No, some things seemed to never change at all.

As Jonathan grabbed the hat to hang upon the proper rack – and close the door before his neighbors saw that Mr. Autumn actually had a visitor – Edward, after much loitering, sauntered his way into the kitchen.

“Ah, you even got a mug for me! I feel like you knew I was coming.” Edward turned and waved a finger at Jonathan with a wide grin adorning his features. Jonathan, in return, scowled even harder.

“On the contrary, Edward, I was hoping for a quiet day to myself – hence why there’s only one mug.”

Jonathan crossed the kitchen floor at an alarming pace and slammed his hand on top of the mug, being sure to stand his full height over Edwards form. Edward seemed extremely unfazed by this performance and instead continued to smile up at him.

“Be courteous, mon cher. I am your guest right now!” With that note, he gracefully sidestepped around Jonathan’s form and draped himself in one of the kitchen chairs, crossing his legs and keeping a keen eye on the man. Jonathan used his ever-working intuition to assume this meant that he was not going to be rid of Edward for quite some time, and grabbed a second mug from the shelf.

“Do you still drink it black? Or have you finally given up on that?”

“3 milk, 2 sugars. Black is only around the others.”

For some reason or another, Edward had always held the belief that drinking coffee and tea black would make him seem more intimidating to others. Jonathan always believed, given the faces Edward made behind the cups, that he would rather be doing anything but that. Nobody noticed but Jonathan, however, and this seemed to make Edwards tactic work.

What followed next was a moment of drawn-out silence, in which Jonathan prepared the drinks while Edward preoccupied himself by staring out into the yard. Jonathan had to acknowledge that there was really nothing to look at. Besides a few piles of dirt and the flowers that still lay discarded in the sun, the grass was dull and green, the trees were dull and green, the sky was dull and blue, everything was just a normal yard. Really, an unexciting view.

“Is this all you’ve been doing since you finished?” Edward’s voice came out more as a lazy drawl now than the sharp and demanding tone it had been before. Jonathan made a sound of confirmation as he stirred the drinks, watching the contents go from black to milky-white.

“How dull. How incredibly dull, to settle in a suburban life like this.”

“Then tell me what you’ve done.” He always wanted to talk about himself. Some things never changed.

“Well!” A sharp clap of hands caught Jonathan by surprise again, and he winced as the spook clattered against the side of the mug. “Let’s see here. After I got out of Arkham, I decided to go back to Rome. Selina ruined the last trip for me, so I thought I’d make up the experience by going solo this time. The pantheon looked the same, and the temples all looked the same, but the food was far more spectacular now that I didn’t need to worry about being poisoned! Then when I finished there, I traveled to Athens for a brief stay, and then I lived in Denmark for a while. Not much happened there – I worked an odd job at an advertising firm, had a brief stint working on a film set, and then off to Ireland. I spent a fair amount of time observing the ruins and really getting to know the culture, and then I finally settled in Paris. Being of French background, I already knew the language, so getting work there was hardly much effort. So now I’m there, working in a tech business. A rather exciting time if you ask me.”

As Edward had recounted his tale, Jonathan had set the mugs down and settled across from him. Only when he was sure Edward had finished talking did he bother to input his thoughts.

“Hm, exciting indeed.”

Edward seemed less than pleased with the over-joyous reaction, but smiled nevertheless.

“Have you heard from anyone else recently?”

Jonathan shook his head.

“No, the last time I got in touch with anyone was when I got a call from Harley a few years back. How she got my number, I’m not sure, but we spoke for a while. She’s doing well, by the way.” Edward’s eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Good, good! I’m glad.”

Another wave of silence fell between them after this statement as they both merely drank their drinks. Jonathan couldn’t really find anything to say; after the rather abrupt departure, Edward hadn’t crossed his mind at all. Now suddenly he was in his kitchen like it was a typical day, and Edward seemed to be the only thing on his mind.

“Do you remember the heist on Cherry Street? About, ah, ten years back now?”

The silence was once again broken by Edward’s voice, and Jonathan looked up in surprise.

“We tried to rob the bank, but the bank manager had set up watchdogs. Massive Rottweiler hounds, almost at my waist. The men we hired bailed to the vans within the first second of looking at them, and you and I were left trying to get into the vents before we became mince-meat.”

The heist had been one of the few almost-failures the two had endured together, and Jonathan recalled it with fondness.

“Hah, indeed! And when we got inside the vault was so secured, it took almost ten minutes to get it open. You were convinced the Bat was going to show any second and kept waving that scythe of yours around like it was some shield. We got the vault open eventually, but we couldn’t carry all the money out because our men had left.”

“Good thing there was a car on the lot next to the bank.”

“Too bad it was a smart car. We could barely fit the bags in, and by the end, we were both ready to just get arrested. Hell, I was going to light the bat signal myself.”

Jonathan had to laugh at that. Edward, with his hair matted to his head with sweat, screaming that he would climb the walls of the GCPD just to do it.

“You didn’t though. But you almost did again when the wheel popped on the car, and we were stuck for two hours in the middle of nowhere.”

“Not my fault you chose a hideout in the woods. We had a good talk, though. Do you remember what we talked about?”

A slight shake of the head indicated the truth; Jonathan could barely recall their conversation. It had become lost somewhere between formula A of the toxin and all exit routes out of Arkham.

“I asked you if you ever wanted to travel, and you said yes. When I asked you said you never wanted to go back home, but you always wanted to go somewhere exciting, where you can be a nobody and still be a somebody. I agreed – to be known and unknown was always something I wanted to do. A riddle itself.”

Edward tapped the side of his mug with his nails, keeping a steady gaze on Jonathan. The smile had faded from his face at some point, and in its place, was an expression that mixed nostalgia and something deeper in a perfect blend.

“Do you want to go with me, Jonathan? Suburban life was never designed for you. I mean, you’re planting flowers for Christ sake. We’re in the last stretch here – why don’t you do what you said you wanted to? It’ll be like the heist again! You and I out there in the world, preferably without the Rottweilers this time. Come with me back to Paris.” His voice sounded breathy with excitement and there was a look in his eyes, which were bright with the prospect of adventure, with the prospect of hope. Edward had always been the type to seek companionship, and some things seemed to never change, even with age. Jonathan looked from him to his home. The place seemed to be nothing but a shell of memories, built up with an 80’s junk box, a broken kettle, formulas stuck to a board, and in the garden flowers that were rotting in the sun.

Was his home really his home? It felt like Arkham had just transferred itself to a more convenient space, but he was still a patient.

He raised his drink to his lips and took a measured sip before lowering it down again. Edward was still staring at him with the same expression. After another moment of deliberate silence, Jonathan spoke.

“I suppose I should get out for once."

The author Oscar Wilde once said that to live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all. Perhaps we should judge the value of our worth on what we have accomplished with our time here, no matter how long or how short it is. Perhaps the one who has done the impossible is more accomplished than the one who has merely survived. Perhaps the one that follows what they always desired will find that true happiness unfolds in the danger of the unknown, rather than the safety of the know, and that a little companionship never hurt anyone.

[megcapulet]

Behind bars || Mez

Who: Megan Capulet and Oz Montague @ozmontague

Where: Verona Prison

When: 6th November 2019

Notes: Megan visits Oz to try and get some answers (unfinished).

Megan had hoped after the last visit to the jail she was prepared for what was to come.  If anything she was relieved that Oz had agreed to see her and that Tybalt hadn’t forbidden her from attending because regardless of what bravado she pretended to have if he had refused to allow her then she would have been forced to cancel.  While she felt the security he insisted on sending with her was unnecessary her thoughts changed when she arrived at the prison, a far more intimidating place than the jail had been.

The building was bigger, the guards all appeared massive and the security checks that she had to go through to get into the visiting area were far more thorough but she tried not to let it bother her.  It wasn’t until she was led into the room where she was finally going to see Oz that the full reality of the situation hit her.  She was told to take a seat and the glass partition in front of her made her want to scream.  Taking in the rest of the room she knew she needed to calm herself down so she focused on her breathing, praying silently that she could hold it together.

Oz: 

Oz felt despair like he had experienced at no time before in his life. As a child, life had been difficult and occasionally brutal. But he had his sister, Nox and even the occasional adult who took an interest. As an adult, he had experienced many challenges but he always had the net that was the Montague family. Leading them had honed his purpose and provided him a reason to work through his darkest moments, such as when his one and only attempt at a claim had failed so dramatically and painfully. Now, to know that people thought him capable of this … the murder of an innocent submissive … it broke something in him. 

As he was escorted into the visitor’s room, he slid into the stool and looked through the glass at Megan but it was a hollow version of the man he used to be. Taking a breath, he picked up the receiver and waited until she did the same. “Hello Megan.”

Megan:

There was something so different about the man who vwalked towards her.  She could tell herself that it was the situation, the totally unnecessary glass separating them or the clothes he was wearing but she knew that wasn’t it.  There was a change in the way he presented himself, not the confident and assured figure she knew so well.  He looked smaller somehow and the anger that she had felt, the things she wanted to say to him melted away and she desperately just wanted to hold him though she knew that there was no possibility of that.

“Hello Sir,” she replied.  Not Master, that was no longer appropriate but the fact she chose not to use his name surprised her.  Maybe in some small way she wanted to emphasise that he was still a Dominant, however changed he appeared.  “Thank you for seeing me.  I really appreciate it.”

Oz:

The title surprised him but Megan had always possessed an elegant manner. It was one of the reasons he had been drawn to her. One of many. His lips curved into a small smile although there was a lack of warmth or light in his typically bright gaze. “I have to admit that I was surprised to get your letter. I am …” He choked on the word slightly, clearing his throat, “so sorry for the pain you must be enduring. Are you well? Have you been taking your medication?” He couldn’t stop himself from asking. He could never stop worrying about her.

Megan:

Her face must have shown the confusion she felt as he immediately apologised to her.  That had not been what she expected.  Before she could respond though he asked after her health and her body tensed.  Taking a second she smiled weakly, “I’ve erm...I had a bit of a set back.  I was back in hospital for a few days but I’m fine now.   They just changed my medication again.”  She looked over at him as she said the words, knowing she could never lie to him and that to sit here and say anything else, for him to know she was lying would be worse than just admitting the truth.

Oz:

Oz sighed, “I was worried about that. I am glad they are monitoring it well. I hope you are remembering to take the recovery time you need.” He offered up quietly, knowing damn well she didn’t listen to him about that when they were together so he had even less expectation now that she would do as he asked. He loathed the partition. He missed the very scent of her and in this place, he couldn’t see that silken skin so close to his own. Or smell her subtle perfume. Sighing again, he continued, “You asked to see me so I am assuming it has something to do with you entering a new claim. I hope you know I only want you to be happy Megan. You don’t need anything from me to have that …” He smiled, this time more genuinely, “You never really did need much from me. Good thing too because I don’t have anything left.”

Megan:

“I have several people forcing me to do as my doctor orders,” she sighed though there was a slight lilt of laughter behind it.  “Disadvantage of living at the Estate is there is always someone there.”  He had already surprised her with his earlier questions but nothing shocked her as much as the assumption he had reached and she quickly shook her head.  “I’m not entering a claim.  My relationship ended several months ago.”  She bit down on her lip as she considered how much to say but in the end chose not to elaborate further.  “I was given back the deeds to the lodge and the villa,” she said instead after a moment.  “You kept them in my name?” 

Oz:

Oz’s smile warmed as he nodded, “Sounds like what you need.” He murmured, shaking his head. “Disadvantage? More like where you should be right now. With family.” That fundamental division had never been sorted in their claim. His family was never her family. “Oh… I apologize. I have to admit I am surprised.” He nodded, “I bought them for you. I was advised by the real property lawyers that I would need a signed power of attorney from you to sell them but I just … couldn’t do it.” He swallowed hard, “Of course, now you can do as you wish with them. Sell them, burn them down, whatever you wish. They were always yours.” he acknowledged with a nod. He had never been able to sell those properties, particularly the lodge as it brought back so many memories. The summer house was purchased with some hope for their future and when it all came crashing down, it had hurt to even look at that particular sheif of documentation. All that optimism crushed under the weight of the realization that he had not and would never be enough for her. 

Megan:

“We discovered that we were fundamentally incompatible, it was better to end as friends than……” She didn’t finish the sentence, the words were too painful.  His practical explanation over the properties was understandable but stung.  In her head he had kept them because of the sentiment but she had been fooling herself again.  Of course they had been retained for legal reasons, though she scoffed laughingly at his suggestions.  She knew she could never visit the villa, she had planned a trip there for them together but it never happened and the mere thought of the place was tainted.  Megan had already decided that she would sell it as soon as she could but the lodge presented more of an emotional connection that she still hadn’t dealt with or decided on.

His somewhat clinical reply reminded her of something else she needed to understand and she paused for a moment before she spoke.  “I need to know, to understand why you didn’t testify at your trial.  You watched me be grilled on our relationship, details of how I feel about you displayed for everyone.  All those others who spoke in your defence.  I don’t understand why you didn’t speak up.  Why wouldn’t you tell them your side?  That you never did her any harm?”  Her gaze sought out his steel eyes, “Please, I need to understand.” 

Oz:

“I’m sorry to hear that Megan. Truly. I thought you were in a good place.” He murmured quietly, frankly a bit surprised that it had not worked out better for the submissive. “But then again, you were always fine on your own and I’m sure you are doing well now. As soon as all this dies down, you can go back to your regular life.” Oz assured. That was what he needed to believe. That Megan wouldn’t be embroiled in this nightmare any longer than she needed to be. 

The question surprised him, “I appreciate your testimony. Everyone was so …” His mind flashed to Posey Capulet’s hysterics on the stand and a piece of him wondered if he was more the monster the Prosecutor claimed him to be. “There were two reasons …. I was advised by several competent lawyers that doing so would not improve my case or its outcome. Also … and most pressingly, I could not subject myself to cross-examination on Montague affairs. I quite simply had a great deal of information that revealing would hurt the family.” He met her eyes and a glimmer of the man he used to be resurfaced for a moment, “The family comes before everything, even me.” He broke the eye contact and looked down again, “I am sorry if you felt humiliated by revealing so much personal information with no reciprocal moment from me.  Is there something you wanted to know?”

Megan:

“Yes, things will settle soon and I will be able to return to my apartment,” she agreed.  There was no point arguing the rest.  He had told her the last time he wanted to imagine her happy and settled so she was content to let him.  She could cope on her own but it didn’t make her happy.  However with each failed relationship she was beginning to think that there was something wrong with her and that she would be better just staying alone.  However she did not share any of that with Oz.  The news of her relapse had been enough negative news for the one visit.

Her gaze met his as he explained the reasoning and she had to confess she had never anticipated the Montague family to be the reason he didn’t speak.  The annoyance that she had felt over him not defending himself ebbed away a bit more as she knew what he said was true, family came before everything.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t think about that,” she confessed quietly, appreciating again the massive role he had held.

Megan watched him for a moment as she considered what she did want to know.  “You don’t have to apologise to me.  I should be apologising to you.  As I said in my letter I’m sorry my words were not enough to convince them.  There is no way you would have harmed her.”  Brushing her hair back from her face she could feel her nerves gripping her but she wanted to say it, “I can’t begin to imagine how you felt about the whole pregnancy thing either.  You didn’t deserve any of that.  It was such a cruel ….trick isn’t even the right word, I don’t know what is.”

[anneedmonsonus]

My Husband’s Big Deck: Our Backyard Renovation

Blame my shrunken, shriveled brain, but somehow I have totally neglected to share a big part of our home renovation here on the blog – our new patio and deck, which is about thirty times nicer than what we had there before (pics a little later in this post).

I’ve shared our outdoor entertaining area makeover so much on my social media, but somehow I have totally forgotten to share it on the blog. Blame my shrunken, shriveled brain, because the deck is one of my favourite things we’ve done here, renovation-wise. It has added so much functionality to our house and improved how we live and entertain. Sometimes I wish we had done it years ago – but then maybe we wouldn’t have appreciated it as much? We have always liked to have family and friends over and to entertain, but having the deck just makes it much easier and more pleasant. It feels like we’ve added another room onto the house – and a very appreciated room at that, now that we’ve gone from just two people living here with a dog to a family of five. (Yes, I count the dog, the neediest dog in the world, who sleeps on our bed every night with her head on the pillow, tucked in as she demands (and deserves. We are merely her disciples).

I love myself a little walk through renovation memory lane, so this is what our outdoor area looked like when we bought the house, nine years ago:

It was depressing, dark sunroom with disgusting fibreglass roof. Bleh. I distinctly remember being at the home open, and a woman walking into the sunroom and grimacing. It was gross. Meanwhile I was all heart-eyes like, “Oh wow! ANOTHER room!” Genuinely joyous. It’s funny because when I was house-hunting I had been looking at all these much, much smaller apartments and villas (in more desirable, but more expensive suburbs, such as Leederville and Applecross) and this was the first proper ‘house’ I visited. It was also unfurnished, and even though it’s by no means a big house, and I know it’s not the ‘done thing’ these days to sell a home unfurnished, to me it felt like it added to its feeling of spaciousness. It felt big and full of potential. So despite its uglier features, like the sunroom, I was genuinely smitten by this seemingly huge house and its bigger block and all the beautiful trees.

Not long after we moved in, Mr Nerd and I gave the sunroom a really budget makeover with white paint and new roof panels. I blogged about that little reno here. It brightened it up a lot and made it much nicer to sit under, and also doing the mission brown windows white and replacing the roofing panels made the INSIDE of our house seem much brighter – and we had it that way for years. So even though it was a pain to paint, it was worth doing!

I dug out the old 70s bricks and we did poured limestone which was a great idea until it went mucky and looked like this:

The sunroom was not the biggest room and with four doors/entrances, it always felt sort of limited in regards to how you could place furniture. It wasn’t really an ideal space to put a table and chairs, for example.

I started to become obsessed with the idea of enjoying a meal, at a table, outside (probably right around the time Little Nerd started solids, strangely enough). And after a while Mr Nerd became obsessed with the idea of knocking out the sunroom completely and building a deck there instead, with a new patio roof. At first I wasn’t keen on the idea of decking at all, although I have always loved it. I knew that decking generally tends to be much more expensive to do than paving. So why not do paving? I also figured we could probably lay pavers ourselves, too, and save some money.

But Mr Nerd wanted a deck and he fought me on it and eventually I agreed – but I wanted it done professionally. (I know, I’m fickle. I’d be happy to lay pavers ourselves but if we want a deck I want to pay the right people to do it properly). I think it was partly because I knew if we did it ourselves, with a toddler and a baby in tow, it would be the kind of project that would take a looong time and our yard would become even more of a mess. Don’t get me wrong, I know kids don’t care – ours genuinely LOVE playing in renovation rubble and hiding Paw Patrols amidst tools and lumber. This isn’t about the kids, it’s about me! I sound like a brat, but I could just picture me, Little Nerd, a soon-to-be-crawling baby and everyone else tripping over tools and half-finished decking for months and feral just-had-a-baby me couldn’t stand the thought of it. Plus, this deck Mr Nerd had in mind just kept getting bigger and bigger. He thought it would be a good idea to extend it all the way past the house. In the end I even wondered if the deck was going to be too big. (That wasn’t meant to sound dirty but it sort of did, I’m sorry).

We hired TJP Carpentry to do our deck. Mr Nerd was keen to give it a crack but I went sort of feral and insisted that we get it done professionally and I’m so glad we did. It was done much faster (and much better!) than we could have ever done it ourselves. As a bonus, it was all done in time for Christmas and we had a beautiful Christmas Day here. I can’t recommend Tim and his team enough (it was actually a wonderful House Nerd reader who recommended HIM to me in the first place, for which I will always be thankful!)

The patio was by Great Aussie Patios, who also did our new carport. We got four quotes and they weren’t the cheapest but they were the only ones (of that lot) who were happy to do a skillion roof (a flat, angled roof) as opposed to a more traditional gabled patio design. I think we could have gone either style and it would have been fine, but with the new Scyon Walls cladding the house looks a bit more modern and the skillion roof seemed to be a better fit.

Once we knocked the old sunroom out, the difference in the light in the house was huge – it felt so much brighter. I actually became quite hesitant about doing another patio to replace it – an even bigger patio this time – and running the risk of the inside house becoming quite dark (both our living spaces, study and kitchen wrap in an L-shape around the deck).

But see those white panels above the gutters and between the ceiling of the new patio? They make a MASSIVE difference. Those panels are made of Sunpal Sunlite sheets, a polycarbonate product that uses Solarsmart technology to give 99.9% UV protection while letting in a truckload of natural light. They’re pretty amazing! They’re opaque so they can be used as privacy screens as well, and they let us boost up the ceiling height of the patio while also covering the less-than-attractive roof.

The ceiling of our patio is SolarSpan Insulated Roof Sheeting. Even when it’s really hot, it never feels too uncomfortable to sit outside on the deck, it does stay a nice temperature.

In between the patio going up and the deck, I took your advice. Upon urging from many house nerd readers, I cut back the trumpet vine that had been engulfing the big dragon tree in our garden from the day we moved in here. I cut it back by hand, with like a snippy thing, because my darling hubby won’t let me near his chainsaw, and dragged it all out to green waste collection. It took more than two days to cut it all back as much as possible, and I had blisters on my blisters and biceps on my biceps by the end of it, but it was the most satisfying garden project ever. It’s impossible to actually remove the trumpet vine completely, it must stay, and for those who asked why I didn’t cut it back completely, it’s because our block slopes from one side to the other and with the hedge completely gone there would have been no privacy between our garden and our poor neighbours. No walking around naked.

Oddly, when I was cutting back the trumpet vine, I actually uncovered the long-petrified remains of two other (much smaller, long-dead) dragon trees. I figured whoever planted the first one must have done three at once, probably not realising how big they can get, or either planting three for luck and hoping one would take – which it sure did.

Now – something I obsess over. Wood! I obsessed over wood when we did our kitchen benchtops. I obsessed over wood when it was time to do the deck, which we chose Pacific teak for. I like jarrah, which seems to be the most commonly done in Perth, but we wanted something lighter in colour, simply because our internal vinyl plank floors are a light oak colour and we wanted the deck to be lighter as well.

I did think about composite decking, like Trex, but they’re expensive. And even though composite decking products have come a long way and have so many advantages, to me there is still nothing that beats the look of real timber. Despite my research, I’d never even heard of Pacific teak until Tim texted me a pic. “Do that,” I said. It was exactly what I wanted and had been hoping to get. Here in Perth it’s usually slightly more expensive than jarrah, but less expensive than Tasmanian oak and blackbutt.

It actually does look so, so beautiful in its unfinished, un-oiled state too – look at it! Look at those soft, Scandinavian-inspired whitewash-ey looking tones.

But because of our block orientation, the deck unfortunately cops a beating from the full brunt of the late afternoon summer sun) we definitely needed the protection of an oil, and so oiled it was. But then it brought out these delicious honey tones. So, I’m happy.

We’ve still got bits of our backyard to go until I will finally feel like, “We’re done!” I still want to paint the old pavers – and that bit of old poured limestone beneath where the deck is – we want to pull that up and extend the lawn. And see what we call ‘the sandpit’, which is basically a spot where we used to have our old limestone and stone slab ‘coffee table’ – that sandpit will go (don’t feel too sorry for them, the kids have a new, upgraded sandpit now and it’s a truly awesome one… but that’s a blog post for a different day).

In the meantime here are the trades and suppliers we used – if you have any questions – let me know. Maya x

ALFRESCO ENTERTAINING AREA MAKEOVER – TRADES AND SUPPLIERS

DECKING TJP Carpentry

DECK OIL Feast Watson

CLADDING Scyon Walls (Stria)

PATIO Great Aussie Patios

GUTTERS AND DOWNPIPES Westcoat Perths Roof and Gutter Restoration Specialists

PAINT AND COLORBOND COLOURS Monument (dark charcoal) and Dulux Natural White

The post My Husband’s Big Deck: Our Backyard Renovation appeared first on House Nerd.

from Home Improvement https://house-nerd.com/2019/11/15/my-husbands-big-deck-our-backyard-renovation/

[naijamoment]

Nigeria is a land of opportunity. And I do not mean this the way Nigerian politicians usually mean it, as a cliched speech for the campaign trail. I mean this from the bottom of my heart because it is true and I have benefited from it and I can prove it. Nigeria ought to change her educational model. Our educational system is still by and large a colonial model where the occupying colonial power merely trained a select few natives for the purpose of having clerks and translators to run their exploitative government. It was never designed to transfer knowledge that prepares the recipient to add value to Nigeria.Quite on the contrary, it was designed and still remains designed to train Nigerians to take value from Nigeria and give it to the West. This is one of the reasons why we have more Nigerian medical professionals practicing in the West and Saudi Arabia than we have in Nigeria. Our educational system is also designed to train the bulk of its intake to be nothing more than paper pushers who daily clock watch, while waiting for the end of the month to collect salaries that enables them to their insatiable lust for foreign goods. Our educational system does not make us productive. It does not teach us to seize initiative. In fact, it kills initiative. Many Nigerian children who show initiative at an early age are made to feel ashamed of their initiative by their teachers themselves who call them ITK (meaning I Too Know). The subliminal message underlying that common label is that it is not our place to be overly intelligent or curious. We ought to leave that to the oyinbo man. It is for this reason that Nigerian youths feel it is the job of the government to provide jobs for them. Pay attention to what I said. Our youths do not think it is government's responsibility to provide the enabling environments for jobs to thrive. No. They believe, because of the type of education they have received, that it is the responsibility of government to provide actual jobs for them. They have been falsely taught that the secret of success is to go to school, get a certificate and that that certificate acts as a receipt that you hand over to government in exchange for a guaranteed life of ease, laziness and entitlement, along with an official car, a driver, official quarters and domestic workers that do everything for you except help you do your business in the toilet. That is the life their grandparents saw the colonial masters live. When their grandparents came of age, they chose to live that same life forgetting that the colonial masters where little more than an army of occupation whose mindset was to take and not necessarily to build except to the extent of building railways and roads from mines and farms directly to ports for onward transportation of the wealth of Africa to Europe and teaching (perhaps brainwashing is a better term) the natives to accept their particular brand of Christianity (which invariably has their monarch and not Christ as the head of the Church). This is why a Nigerian youth who lives in Kaduna can complain that the government has not provided him or her with a job. Yet, Kaduna rice sells for almost double in Lagos. The government that he or she complains against has built a railway and train that will take them to Lagos for less than ₦2,000. They do not need a visa to go to Lagos. Even the Bible says "my people perish from lack of knowledge." Yes, the Muhammadu Buhari administration is inept, but this clueless government is not your problem. The problem of the Nigerian youth is an educational system that has robbed him of initiative and pumped him full of entitlement to the extent that he or she is expecting manna from heaven. The problem is mental laziness. The problem is YOU! Probably the best thing that ever happened to Nigeria's economy and her educational system is the second coming of Ngozi Okonjo-Iweala and her brilliant imitatives with former President Jonathan, chief of which was the Youth Enterprise With Innovation in Nigeria (YouWin) initiative. I just finished writing a book on the Jonathan administration titled Facts Versus Fiction: The True Story of the Jonathan Years (Chibok, 2015 and Other Conspiracies). In it I devoted a whole chapter to YouWIN. Even though I was somewhat involved in the process, I was nonetheless impressed when I took in the bird's eye view of the scheme and how successful it was in creating jobs and changing the mindset of Nigeria's youth. It was not that YouWIN gave grants, although it did give grants ranging from $12,000 to $100,000 to over 4,000 Nigerian youths. The beauty of the initiative was that it provided business and financial education to tens of thousands of Nigeria's youth and hopefully changed their outlook from one of entitlement to one of self reliance. Unknown to many Nigerians, YouWIN is actually the world's largest business plan competition ever created. When David Mackenzie, a Senior Economist at the World Bank, did an Independent Impact Evaluation on YouWIN, which he published in 2015, McKenzie found that YouWin was two and half times as efficient as a 2013 management consulting program in Mexico, four and a half times as efficient as a 2014 wage subsidy program in Jordan and almost ten times as efficient as a 2011 vocational training program in Turkey. That is why it was rather disappointing that President Muhammadu Buhari could not see beyond politics to understand the need to retain the initiative. Rather, his administration reduced Nigeria's most successful job creation effort to "a weekly print media enterprise education programme designed to assist entrepreneurs start, plan and grow their businesses" which it christened YouWiN!Connect, an aberration and a bastardization of the original idea which has gone the way of other harebrained ideas that the current administration came up with including Change Begins With Me and the N-Power scheme (emphasis on scheme). It is very sad to see what has happened to initiatives like YouWIN and the Presidential Special Scholarship Scheme for Innovations and Development, Almajiri Schools etc. Sound policies, patriotic initiatives and powerful ideas that should have been consolidated into Nigeria's educational system have been either canceled, watered down or left to wither away. And look at the impact such actions have had on the economy. Speaking of the economy, the last time Nigeria had a Coordinator was in 2011 when President Goodluck Jonathan nominated Dr. Mrs. Ngozi Okonjo Iweala as a minister and upon her confirmation named her the Coordinating Minister of the Economy. How sad that in 2017, six years after that event, Nigeria has now got her second Coordinator and no, it is not another minister. It is no less a personality than the incumbent Vice President who has been reduced, in the estimation of his boss, from an acting President to a Coordinator. In his first letter to the Senate on February 10, 2017, before going on medical vacation, President Buhari had used the correct nomenclature to describe the role that would be played by the Vice President, Professor Yemi Osinbajo. In the said letter, the Vice President was to 'act' on his behalf. How very strange that in his second letter to the Senate on May 7, 2017, before going to see his London doctors, President Buhari curiously changed the wordings of his letter and named the Vice President as someone who would "coordinate' rather than 'act'! And to those who are saying that the nomenclature does not matter, go home and call your father 'my mother's husband' and after he has slapped you back into reality come back here and realize that if it is not panadol it is not the same thing as panadol. Vice President Osinbajo did a very good job the last time he was acting President and as such no one who loves Nigeria should hesitate to accord him the respect he has earned even though by reason of his peculiar situation he cannot complain about this shabby treatment meted out on him for fear of playing into the hands of the 'Cabal'. I think the President was not too happy with vice President Professor Yemi Osinbajo's good performance the last time which out-shined him hence this Coordinator of National Affairs business. Where are our constitutional lawyers? Can't somebody approach the court to stop this nonsense? Coordinator of National Affairs is unknown to our constitution! Our constitution was not made for President Muhammadu Buhari. Rather, President Buhari was made by our constitution and must be subject to it President or not! Finally, on the recent release of some of the kidnapped girls, let me say that anybody that is not happy that 82 Chibok girls were released must be a monster whose humanity should be called into question. I thank God that these girls have been released and I commend the Federal Government for the feat of ensuring that these girls are reunited with their families. May God bless President Muhammadu Buhari for providing the leadership that enabled this to happen. Having said that, there are some factual observations I want to raise. What you are about to read is completely devoid of any opinion. I am just stating facts. You may not like the facts. You may not even like me. But one thing you cannot do is ignore the fact. Why should a Presidential spokesman turn himself to a praise singer for a terrorist group? Read the following quote: “To be honest, without appearing to speak for Boko Haram, from the outlook of these girls, they appear better in terms of their physical outlook than the 21 we received before."-Garba Shehu, President Muhammadu Buhari's spokesman. What can one even say when a Presidential spokesman praises Boko Haram for looking after Chibok girls well! What can I say? I am speechless! On May 7, 2017, when the girls were ferried over to the Nigerian Presidential Villa at Aso Rock, Abuja to meet with President Muhammadu Buhari, photographs released showed them looking very well fed and robust. In fact, the next day (May 8) Africa's top blog, Linda Ikeji's blog published a photo of the released girls side by side with a picture of a woman and her baby in one of the Internally Displaced Persons camp in Borno state for a side by side comparison and these Chibok girls, who had been living rough inside Sambisa forest looked well fed, well groomed and buxom while the woman in the IDP camp looked haggard and hungry. It leaves you questioning who has been in captivity and who has been free. How is this possible? This is not the first time Chibok girls have been released. Almost exactly a year ago, just a week before the current Nigerian administration marked its first year in office some Chibok girls were also released. Another batch were released in October 2016. The thing is that when these girls are released there is a media blackout on them. No one is allowed near them to interview them. I understand that they have gone through an ordeal, but Malala also went through a similar or even worse ordeal and no one shielded her from the press. Malala Yousafzai was shot at age 15 by the taliban and left unconscious. She survived and she was threatened by the taliban who threatened to kill her should they catch her. Her case was one of clear and present danger. Yet she was not sequestered from the public even though, like the Chibok girls, her English was not so good at first. In fact, an international press tour was arranged for her placing her on the world stage and kickstarting the activism that earned her a Nobel Prize making her the youngest person ever to be so awarded. One would have thought that that is what would have played out for the released girls. Last October, 21 Chibok girls were release by Boko Haram after negotiations. Till date, these girls have been kept from the press. Even their own parents are not allowed access to them according to a New York Times piece on them published on March 11, 2017. The girls are kept in S safe house according to the New York Times. During the Christmas holidays they were allowed to visit Chibok but were housed in the home of a "top politician". Their parents were only allowed to 'visit them'. Soldiers guarded the girls and after some hours asked the parents of the girls to leave. Let me say again that I am glad that they have been released and I pray that the remaining captives are also released but questions remain and when you attempt to raise them, you are shouted down by suspected members of the Buhari Media Center that Farooq Kperogi warned us about. Reno's Nuggets: And now for my nugget of the week. A woman who is looking for a perfect husband will never marry, for there are no perfect men, few good men and many regular men. In fact, foolish women fall for men who know how to pleasure them. Wise women go for men who know how to treasure them. A refined girl is better than a fine girl because fineness fades fast with age but refinement improves as you mature. And finally, whether you are a man or a woman, don't be ashamed of your background. Focus on improving your future. Jesus was born in an animal barn but now lives in heaven #RenosNuggets Reno Omokri is a Christian TV talk show host and founder of the Mind of Christ Christian Center and the Helen and Bemigho Sanctuary for orphans. He is the author of three books, Shunpiking: No Shortcuts to God, Why Jesus Wept and Apples of Gold: A Book of Godly Wisdom. His book, Facts Versus Fiction: The True Story of the Jonathan Years: Chibok, 2015 and Other Conspiracies, is set for release in June

[creativedogtrainingonline]

Tricksters, Avengers and Guardian Spirits

http://www.mexconnect.com/articles/3928-tricksters-avengers-and-guardian-spirits-mexican-ghosts!.?.!The kid, they said, was old enough to gather leña– kindling– from the rugged Chiapas hillsides and to mount and

ride a burro. His peasant parents called him” hombrecito”– “little guy”– and trusted him to take care of the couple of chickens and goats that offered the family with sustenance.One moonless night, awakened by the barking of canines, he crept past his sleeping brother and sisters to examine the turmoil.

The length of time he was gone relies on who is informing the story however the boy returned trembling and yelling about awful, evil things out there in the dark.For weeks– months– he declined to leave the family’s small thatched hut after nightfall. Nor could he describe exactly what the” horrible evil” was, just that it existed

and he was mortally scared of it. Finally his daddy, exasperated by the little hombrecito’s fear, took him out of the hut and up the hillside to prove to him that no awful, evil things existed in the dark.Again the stories differ. Some state there was a flash of lightning, others the shouts of wolves or the leap of a jaguar. The dad, startled, turned, temporarily losing his grip on the boy’s hand.The boy vanished.The dad invested the

remainder of the night and the days following calling and searching but the homebrecito of the household didn’t appear.At least not in human form.Residents of that part of Chiapas still see his ghost. Many insist that it is essential to heed his looks due to the fact that he foretells disasters and other horrible occasions: typhoons, fires, infectious diseases. Or, more just recently, criminal or drug dealer attacks.Like lots of Mexican

ghosts( of which there are hundreds )the hombrecito neither readies nor wicked: He simply is.Throughout the Western Hemisphere, pre-European inhabitants incorporated the presence of non-corporal kinds into their daily lives. Ghosts, spirits and those believed to have died but who have actually retained earthly forms appear constantly in both Mexican folk tales and in nineteenth -, twentieth -and twenty-first-century Mexican literature. So common is the belief in transcendent contacts that, throughout Mexico, families, churches, businesses and politicians commemorate November 1 as “El Dìa de los Muertos”– the Day of the Dead.The Evil Priest of Mexico Frequently ghosts of persons who died violently stay in the world to secure treasures or haunt the places where they were last seen. A victim of the” Evil Priest” is among these.According to accounts passed orally from one generation to another numerous hundred years back, this wicked priest hoarded the gold coins provided to his church as offerings. When among his parishioners learned of the thefts he challenged the priest and required that he return the coins. The priest killed him and draped his skeleton over the buried chest where the treasure was hidden.On his deathbed, the priest recanted and confessed his sins, consisting of the thefts and slaying. A caretaker overhead the confession and unearthed

the chest however– as he attempted to open it– a radiant ghost emerged from the skeleton. The caretaker dropped his shovel and tools and left, so frightened by the apparition that he chose not to reveal where or why he had seen it.Some storytellers firmly insist that other adventurers who attempted to reveal the treasure vanished and never ever were spoken with again.La Llorona Priests, excellent and wicked, often appear in ghost reports. So do beautiful woman betrayed by husbands or lovers.One of the latter, “La Llorona “(” The Weeper” ), driven mad after her partner deserted her, killed their 2 children and for more than two centuries has actually roamed the countryside seeking them. Or, inning accordance with some versions, kidnapping young children to take their places.Baja California’s Roadside Seductress An inexplicably lovely lady appears next to a highway in Baja California Sur and disappears after motorists who offer her a ride crash into cliffs or roll down canyons. Whether she was betrayed by a spouse or enthusiast appears not to be known.There seems to be nothing ghostlike about her look– or her seductiveness– when she is used a ride.When questioned “Exactly what were you doing out there, next to the highway, alone?” she merely smiles and whispers,” I’ll inform you later.” However later on for the driver is a disaster, not a rendezvous.The Ghostly Nurse The ghost of a beautiful Mexico City nurse is more benevolent.She fell for a young medical professional and was specific the romance

that joined them would last permanently. However she didn’t understand that the doctor was engaged to rich heiress.One day he left “to participate in to family organisation” in another part of Mexico,” service” that ended up being his honeymoon. The news so ravaged the jilted nurse that she could neither eat nor sleep and she ran out despite all attempts to revitalize her.She continues to haunt the hospital where she worked and typically heals patients assigned to the room

in which she died.Consuelo Other ghosts seem simply to desire companionship, like Consuelo, who passed away before she was able to attend her first grand ball and comes back where a young fan or partner has actually gone to divert himself without his partner. Only he can see her as they try around the dance flooring together, however

; to others he seems to be dancing alone.The Ghost of Pancho Vacation home The ghosts of priests and deceased monks frequently safeguard followers and ward off wicked. The ghosts of military heroes and political figures

likewise abound, particularly throughout national elections. They cast numerous tallies, typically for incumbents, although no one sees them vote.Pancho Rental property The ghost of controversial advanced hero Pancho Rental property thunders through northern Mexico waving a pistol and riding a jet black horse. For several years, a myth circulated that Rental property had actually not passed away which another person’s body had been placed in his grave. He was seen in Sonoloapa, in Torreón , in San Pedro de las Colonias, in Chihuahua. Lastly, it ended up being obvious that a living guy might not appear so regularly in so many places. It had to be his ghost.Some historians believe that Rental property had his head shaved and the map of his most lavish treasure tattooed on his scalp. After his death, grave burglars decapitated his corpse to learn where this

wealth was buried. The headless Rental property rampages after them looking for the missing part of his anatomy.The ghost Villa is likewise said to be a seducer, as is the naughty Don Ludo, who reputedly steals young ladies’s maidenheads while they are sleeping. Like lots of transcendent creatures he can change his appearance and end up being young and good-looking or appear camouflaged as a bird or a cat.During his days of innovative banditry Villa sacked the British- and United States-owned mines of Durango and Chihuahua, cleared state treasuries and leveled the wealthiest haciendas that existed in Mexico at that time.When drinking or boasting about his exploits, he would throw off tips about surprise treasures: 10 million in gold in Pulpito Pass hidden beneath the remains of the 10 males who assisted bury the cache; much more in a cave in the Barranca de Cobre in the Sierra Madre; nearly as much in Maniquipa Canyon in Chihuahua; and a minimum of as much buried on the slopes of Mount Franklin, noticeable from El Paso, Texas.Not only Villa’s ghost guards these treasures but likewise the ghosts of those who were murdered to avoid revealing the concealing places.Villa’s good friend Trillo Torres of Parral obviously knew of at least among these locations. Torres told treasure seekers that the method to one of his lost fortunes was marked by the blood of the Indians that Rental property employed to haul and bury the gold, then had executed. Torres refused to try to retrieve the treasure because the ghosts of the Indians surge from the rugged canyon through

vampire bats to assault those who come close to the treasure.The Ghosts of Yucatan Unlike Vacation home, the avenging spirits of the Yucatàn are not precisely ghosts however gremlin-like phantoms called aluxes (pronounced” alushes”). Numerous years ago while I was participating in a cookout in an impoverished little town in the center of Mexico’s Yucatán peninsula, numerous residents informed me they had seen dwarflike creatures less than a meter high splashing in the rain or antagonizing and frightening dogs.These aluxes are guardians of the crops and play destructive tricks on those who do not believe in them. They love sugary foods and firmly insist on remuneration– cakes, jellied fruit, honey– for the security they

offer. Not only that, however they can own humans ridiculous with their laughter and babbling.Many Yucatecos insist that aluxes lived in Yucatán for thousands of years prior to

the very first humans showed up; an older participant at the carne asada declared they could bring rain, start or end insect plagues and cause the earth to shake. Still another averred that they loved to play tricks however could not be fooled in return because they might read an individual’s intentions.Not all Yucatecos or visitors to the state think in their existence, nevertheless. Apparently a traveler called William Ditchbrun was one of these.A few years ago Ditchbrun cannot return from a guided tour to the archeological site Uxmal. Three days later on, hypothermic, exhausted and suffering a damaged ankle, the sixty-nine-year-old Englishman informed rescuers he ‘d been led astray by child-like voices that kept contacting us to him. He ‘d followed them into the rugged mountains, mindful that they belonged to tiny figures whose existence he could pick up however couldn’t see. They would not let him sleep, chattering at him in buffooning voices. They threw small pebbles at him and when he practically had actually caught up with them he tripped and broke his ankle. Just then did they leave him alone.Cemetery Ghosts Santa Fe de la Laguna cemetery on the Day of the Dead © Yuri Awanohara, 2008 Numerous Mexican ghosts do not leave the places they lived or died.So loaded with ghosts is Guadalajara’s Panteón de Belén that visitors can take nightly trips through the selection of monoliths

and tombstones to spot them or feel their presence.The ghost of Juan Soldado visits his final resting place in a cemetery in the border city of Tijuana.Strange glowing and the noises of laughter emanate at night from panteones in numerous parts of the nation, particularly in Veracruz and Oaxaca.In reality, midnight in practically any rural Mexican cemetery will make a follower out the most suspicious adventurer for the emotions

that the wind, the mist, earthly and unearthly noises and changes of light can bring. “It is best to bring presents with you,” a Oaxacan next-door neighbor

of mine encouraged,” otherwise …” He left the rest to my creativity. I always take something with me when I visit a church, or graveyard, or abandoned settlement.They could be someone’s home.Published or Upgraded on: October 28, 2012 by Robert Joe Stout © 2012 Contact Robert Joe Stout project