#in which Jessie gets a regular uniform

[lady-halibuts-chambers]

Sometimes blasting off again just leaves you feeling blue

#Inktober #Inktober 2020 #Team Rocket #Pokemon #meowth #Jessie #James #in which Jessie gets a regular uniform #always been a rocketshipper #they're so cute #myart

[bigteefsmallbrain]

Team Rocket James Soulmate AU ANGST

I WARNED YOU, I’M NOT COMFORTING YOU, IT’S YOUR FAULT IF YOU CRY, NOT MINE

WARNING: Reader injury, depression, death, gore, everything BAD and NEGATIVE under the GODDAMN SUN

James Kojirō

Yes, that is his full name, I looked it up

Now cry, peasant

He knows damn well he has a soulmate

He knows

He just isn’t willing to admit it

Too devoted to the, admittedly toxic, Jessica FUCKING Musashi

Yes, Jessica Musashi is her full name

You know you have a soulmate too

You also know he doesn’t want you

And that hits hard

Now let me paint you a painful picture

Because I want my friend to suffer

Dearly

Imagine your soulmate rejecting you, and taking on a different lover. You hadn’t exactly planned on meeting your soulmate that day. Traveling on your lonesome, you’re bound to meet people, so hearing his voice from up ahead was a shock.

“James..?”

He certainly wasn’t planning to hear someone call out to him, especially not that damn voice that won’t leave him alone. He ignored her voice on the regular as it is, believing fate had messed up and put her voice in his head instead of Jessica’s.

“Who was that?”

“No one, Jessie, let’s take our leave, shall we?”

No one

No one

“James! Wait! Please!”

He was gone by the time you reached where he was. His words still ringing in your head. No one, did he really mean that? There was a sharp pang in your chest, he was rejecting you, rejecting his soulmate. He had spit those words so venomously, as if he hated just the thought of you.

When you both met for a second time, it didn’t go any smoother. He’s a Pokémon snatcher, you bitterly noted, seeing as he was trying to steal some kids Pokémon with his partner.

“James! Please listen to me! We can work this out, can’t we!?”

You were here, why were you here? Haven’t you got better things to do? I’ve already rejected you, can’t you see I don’t want you? He ground his teeth. Fine, I’ll make it more obvious.

In the end, you wound up with a few broken ribs, a punctured lung, and multiple bruises. The kid, who you now know as Ash, had thanked you for distracting ‘Team Rocket’ long enough to get his Pokémon back. You couldn’t help the bitter smile as you told him it was no problem. Another pang hit your chest, this time, a lot harder.

James didn’t know how much longer he could take it. Your voice, despite him clearly displaying he didn’t want to see you ever again, kept ringing in his head. ‘Please just talk to me.’ ‘I’m your soulmate, we can work things out, can’t we?’. It seems that every time he rejects you, your voice only grows louder.

You didn’t think it would end this way. You never considered it, dying because your soulmate rejected you. It had been long, harsh years, and with each rejection, your chest panged harder. The possibility that those pangs were the showing signs of Soulmate Rejection didn’t occur to you. Or rather, you didn’t want them to, but you still chased him. Even as your face paled, as your appetite shrank, as your eyes blurred, you chased him, because he was your soulmate, and despite all he’s done, you loved him.

James wasn’t expecting to be charged at by a wild Pokémon. He didn’t expect for his partner, his love to leave him to die. He knew he couldn’t escape, so he sucked it up, if this was how it ended, so be it. At least he got to spend it with the love of his life-

“JAMES!” He felt her before he heard her. Pushing his body aside as her broken cry of horror rang through the air. He heard bones snap, flesh tear. He felt blood splatter on the back of his uniform, he..

He was crying, why was he crying? He’s alive.. Right?

He shouldn’t have turned around. As soon as his eyes met your mangled corpse he felt sick.

What had he done..?

What had he done?

You were laying in a pool of your own blood, bones were sticking out of your sickly pale skin, head split open and oh god your eyes were looking right at him. Hollow, lifeless, empty, the once beautiful tone they had now dull.

Beautiful..?

Your eyes.. They were beautiful, weren’t they, the same color he imagined his soulmate would have as a boy.

His soulmate, he numbly realized, his eyes stuck on your now disfigured body. He could see the signs of Soulmate Rejection from here, he could.. He could still hear your voice.

Your voice your voice your voice your voice your voice your voice your voice your voice your voice-

The one thing he deluded himself into thinking he hated the most

The one thing he truly loved hearing, he realized

Wouldn’t stop ringing in his head

To say James was horrified at the revelations he made that day, was an understatement.

To lose a soulmate is one thing

To cause their suffering, and eventually, death was another

He couldn’t stop thinking about you after that

He killed you

Oh god he killed you

He didn’t

He didn’t expect it to go this far

Did he..?

No! You’re his soulmate! You..

You were gone

Every time he ignored you, every time he rejected you, every time he hurt you, physically wounded you

He was disgusted with himself

He couldn’t look in the mirror

He scrubbed his skin bloody

His fault his fault his fault his fault HIS FAULT

It was eating him alive, it was killing him

Just like he killed you

Your voice never left his head

Thoughts of what could have been

How nice it could have been

Till be began seeing you

Still chasing him, healthy, desperate for his attention, for him

He started believing you were real too

He left Team Rocket

He built his happy home with you

You were here

Weren’t you..?

He had driven himself to madness

His guilt ridden mind couldn’t take it, he had been driving himself insane, and thinking of how life could have ended, how you could have been happy together had he just stopped and listened

He grew delusionary

Delusionary, to the point of death

He thought he built a home, though he built air

He cooked a meal, that was worms and dirt

He… he died

He died seeing your smiling face fade

He died watching the house he built disappear into thin air

He..

He didn’t get to see you again

I’m crying and I'm mad about it. I’ll make a fluffy headcanon in the morning, it’s 1AM and I need to go cry myself to sleep. Friend, if you’re reading this, I hope you cried, because dammit I warned you.

I nearly made this more grotesque than needed by having James think you were still alive and having him carry your corpse around, thinking you were just too injured to move, but decided against it.

I’ll also go into more detail in reference to “Soulmate Rejection” and “Soulmate Madness” which are two factors of soulmates I didn’t mention when speaking of my AU.

Anyways, I’ll see you in the morning with a proper Soulmate AU explanation and Fluff post as an apology for, well, this. (I’m thinking some good old OHSHC to get the fluff meters through the roof and ensure no angst is written)

#team rocket #team rocket james #pokemon #pokemon hcs #pokemon headcanons #headcanons #soulmate #soulmateAU #soulmate au #soulmate hcs #soulmate headcanon #angst #hurt without comfort #pain #I cried writing this #still crying #I regret writing this

[dwellordream]

“The plasticity of the notion of reading meant that it represented the medium through which middle-class Victorian girls passed many hours, but it did not bring a uniform message. Like their parents and advisers, adolescent girls who were writing about reading were of two minds. On the one hand, as William Thayer put it, reading could be a way of demonstrating rectitude and diligence; on the other, it could be a route to indolence and the shirking of responsibilities.

Mary Thomas, away at school in Georgia in 1873, suggested these dual meanings of reading as she imagined a newly virtuous domesticity for herself upon returning home: ‘‘I will sew and read all the time, I am not going out any where, but intend to stay at home and work all the time; no matter how interesting a book may be, I will put it down and do whatever I am asked to do, they shall no longer accuse me of being lazy and good for nothing, I will work all day.’’ In its contrast to engaging in a social whirl of visiting and flirtation, reading, like sewing, represented a becoming and modest domesticity. However, reading might also subvert good intentions, and tempt a girl to inattention to, or even disobedience of, the demands of others or of household work. In any case, reading had a meaning for the self, as well as for the family and the culture.

Reading good books was of course a way of demonstrating virtue. Measured reading of improving texts was part of the regimen of many Victorian girls. As advisers suggested, the reading of history was especially praiseworthy. When Nellie Browne returned home from school in 1859, her mother noted in her diary with pride, ‘‘Nellie begins to read daily Eliot’s History of the United States,’’ a parentally encouraged discipline which would both improve and occupy Nellie now that her school days were over.

Jessie Wendover, the daughter of a prosperous Newark grocer and another regular diarist, recorded a steady diet of history in her journal, justifying her summer vacation in 1888 with the reading of a two-volume History of the Queens of England, as well as doing a little Latin and some arithmetic. The popular British domestic novelist Charlotte Yonge wrote her History of Germany specifically for readers like Jessie Wendover, who began it the following year. What American girl readers took from the history they read is hard to ascertain, because unlike their rapt reports on novels, they recorded their history as achievement rather than illumination.

One can certainly appreciate the irony, though, in encouraging girls to read accounts of national travails, the stories of armies, wars, and dynastic succession, which were ennobled partly by their distance from girls’ real lives. One of the advantages of history seemed to be that girls could be expected to have no worrisome practical interest in it—in marked contrast to the reading of romances or novels.

Victorian girls could build character through a variety of other literary projects, prime among them the memorizing of poetry. Over the course of the late nineteenth century, the publishing industry issued a number of collections of snippets of poetry known as ‘‘memory gems,’’ designed for memorization by schoolchildren. The verse in these anthologies was to serve as ‘‘seed-thoughts’’ for earnest young Victorians aspiring to know the best, and these were the likely sources for many of the couplets which appear in girls’ diaries and scrapbooks.

Margaret Tileston’s daily diary, recorded religiously for her entire life, both fed and celebrated a variety of literary disciplines, including most prominently reading and memorizing poetry. She too read histories during the summer, along with keeping up with her other studies, noting one July day following her graduation from Salem High School that she had ‘‘read my usual portions of Macaulay [a 40-page allotment] and French, but only a few pages of Spencer.’’ Margaret Tileston also read advice literature, such as Mary Livermore’s What Shall We Do with Our Daughters? and two books by Samuel Smiles, Self-Help and Duty. (The latter she described as looking ‘‘quite interesting and full of anecdotes.’’) Margaret Tileston’s diaries suggest a life consumed with the rewards of self-culture.

At fifteen, however, she recorded a brush with another literary genre and mode of striving—a seeking not only for mastery of the will but for beauty itself. Poetry first appeared simply as a verse of romantic poetry copied on the page: ‘‘Why thus longing thus forever sighing, for the far-off, unattained, and dim, while the beautiful, all round thee lying, offers up its low, perpetual hymn.’’ Margaret Tileston was now away at girls’ school, where she had experienced something of an emotional awakening in the intense atmosphere of schoolgirl friendships.

Her turn to poetry seems to reflect the new culture in which she was briefly submerged. That summer, back with her family on vacation on the Massachusetts coast, Tileston again turned to poetry, and to beauty, in an uncharacteristic passage of effusion. ‘‘The moon was perfectly lovely in the sky and its light on the water. We quoted lines of poetry, and it was beautiful.’’ By January of the next year, however, poetry had been incorporated into her disciplines of order and accomplishment. After returning from boarding school, she had moved with her family from the farm where she had spent her formative years to the town of Salem, where she attended the local high school. There she embarked on another campaign of self-improvement, the memorization of poetry, perhaps as a strategy to gain control of alien surroundings.

Two months later she described a new discipline: the daily ritual repetition of all the poems she had learned, of which there were by then 111. On May 25 she reported that her extraordinary ability to memorize poetry was gaining her a reputation. ‘‘Miss Perry asked me if I knew about 250 poems. She said that one of the Goodhue girls had told her I did. I remarked something of the sort to Miss Perkins one day in recess, and somehow it was repeated.’’ By the end of July she noted that she was beginning to have trouble finding new poems to learn because she knew so many already.

Appreciation of the beauty of poetry had dropped out of her journal. Nor did she suggest that the poetry had any meaning to her at all. Yet she very likely gained some of the satisfactions from poetry expressed by Louisa May Alcott, some years before. After disobeying her mother, at the age of eleven, Alcott ‘‘cried, and then I felt better, and said that piece from Mrs. Sigourney, ‘I must not tease my mother.’’’ She went on, ‘‘I get to sleep saying poetry,—I know a great deal.’’ For those feeling guilty, sad, misunderstood, or wronged, repeat- ing lines of elevating poetry had an effect in a secular mode analagous to the saying of ritual Hail Marys. The verses established an alliance with a higher authority and suggested personal participation in a glorious and tragic human struggle.

And in fact, poetry, even more than history, was the prototypical idealist genre. In 1851 the British educational pioneers Maria Grey and Emily Shirreff proposed the reading of poetry rather than fiction, explaining the crucial distancing effect of poetic subjects. ‘‘In a poem, the wildest language of passion, though it may appeal to the feelings, is generally called forth in circumstances remote from the experience of the reader.’’ They suggested that in poetry there was a higher truth than that of superficial realism: ‘‘The grand conceptions of the poet are true in ideal beauty.’’

Writing fifty years later, Harriet Paine too suggested that poetry had generic qualities of elevation. ‘‘After all, in poetry itself what we read is not the important thing. We should read poetry to give us a certain attitude of mind, a habit of thinking of noble things, of keeping our spirit in harmony with beauty and goodness and strength and love.’’ Earlier Paine had commended the memorization of poetry as neces- sary to ‘‘take in the full meaning,’’ suggesting just such a regular regimen of repetition as Tileston had pursued. The spiritual rewards from internalizing poetry were revealed by Paine’s proposal that it take place on the Sabbath: ‘‘Surely we must give a part of every Sunday to such elevating study.’’

Elizabeth Barrett Browning had censured poets for their historical escapism in her 1857 poem Aurora Leigh, arguing Their sole work is to represent the age, Their age, not Charlemagne’s—this live, throbbing age, That brawls, cheats, maddens, calculates, aspires. Yet it was in just its remoteness from ‘‘this live, throbbing age,’’ just in the ‘‘togas and the picturesque’’ disparaged by Browning that poetry was considered so appropriate for girl readers.

…If reading presented an opportunity to discover national allies, to demonstrate private virtue, and to suggest the triumph of the will against ennui or boredom, it increasingly endorsed another way of defining life: the excitement and the exercise of the feelings. Girls who read their daily allowance of Macaulay or the Bible with pride and self-satisfaction upbraided themselves for their difficulties in controlling their insatiable appetites for Victorian novels of all kinds. Reading for leisure or for pleasure invariably meant reading for ‘‘sensation,’’ reading for adventure, excitement, identification, titillation. In the process of this kind of reading, Victorian girls ministered to a complex of emotions.

…Perhaps leisure reading can best be defined by what it was not: study, sleep, or sewing. Girls chastised themselves for imperfectly learning their lessons, and sometimes blamed the distractions of leisure reading. Martha Moore, who had just begun to attend school in occupied New Orleans during the Civil War, confessed that she found the schoolwork hard and had had two crying spells before she ‘‘picked up an interesting story and with my old habit of procrastination, thought I would read that first, and then study.’’

She observed the inevitable consequence ‘‘that my lessons are very imperfectly known.’’ And even Margaret Tileston, whose discipline seldom allowed her to swerve from duty, could be seduced by light reading. At the age of fourteen: ‘‘I scarcely studied in my history at all, because I was interested in ‘Sir Gibbie,’ and wanted to finish reading it.’’ At the age of seventeen: ‘‘I undertook to spend the afternoon and evening on my Ancient History, but my thoughts wandered and I spent some time on papers and magazines.’’ At the age of twenty: ‘‘I did not study a great deal in evening, on account of my interest in my novel, but I read over my History lesson.’’

Girls also resolved to prevent reading from interfering with their domestic chores, usually their needlework. Treating reading as recreation, Virginian Agnes Lee observed, ‘‘I really am so idle I must be more industrious but it is so hard when one is reading or playing to stop to practice or sew.’’ Another Virginian, Lucy Breckinridge, set up a similar opposition, noting that she and her sisters had gathered together in her room ‘‘being industrious. I am getting over my unsocial habit of sitting in my room reading all day.’’ For Lucy Breckinridge private reading not only was not industrious, it was also antisocial.”

- Jane H. Hunter, “Reading as the Development of Taste.” in How Young Ladies Became Girls: The Victorian Origins of American Girlhood

#history #victorian #american #jane h. hunter #how young ladies became girls

[subetagossip]

honestly?

saint doesn't deserve the scraps of adoration she gets from the brownnosing cockgobblers sad masses that do stand up for her. it's pretty clear that her own personal preferences influence the items that get approved through the cw queue (which is already moving at a snail's pace as it is). at least jessi approved shit somewhat adequately. saint? not even slightly. so many items have either been improperly accepted or rejected. we've lost so many good cw submitters already because they got fed up with the shit. since her usurping of the art staff throne: the backgrounds of approved ci's aren't even the proper white.  items have gotten through with lineart that is too thin, completely shattering the attempt previous staff have made at keeping the site uniform. note, attempt. i won't even mention the furry boom (oops). there are ghost borders around some newer regular and cw items. rejected cws get redlines that change the item completely! that isn't even what a redline is for. need i go on?

#subeta #cw clothing #wearables #artwork #staff #submission

[11jj11]

Upon Our Sea -- Pokeshipping -- Chapter Six

Ash finally gets a proper appearance in this chapter. :) 

   Chapter Six – A New Team

   “Golduck– I said water type moves only!” Misty shouted towards the pool, earning a gleaming purple-eyed glare from her Golduck. Misty glared right back at him with narrowed eyes, and the glow of the Psychic attack died down. The Golduck let out a dramatic huff, before releasing a powerful blast of water– the Hydro Pump narrowly missing a speeding Seadra.

   Misty had seen a Pokemon’s personality change upon evolution many times before, but none had been quite surprising for her as Psyduck’s evolution. She had grown quite fond of the silly little Psyduck she had trained for nearly seven years– whom she had thought would never evolve at that point.

   His evolution had been mid gym battle– one against someone that was after their sixth badge– and they had thought they had Psyduck cornered. Rumor had gotten around not to use any attacks on her Psyduck that could lead to worsening his headache, and as such he hadn’t been able to drawn out his full potential. Apparently Psyduck had enough at that point though– because he had ended that battle with nothing but flare.

   His evolution hadn’t been slow, but rather a sudden harsh burst of light as he changed into a Golduck– swiftly followed by a newly learned Hydro Pump that had knocked out the challenger’s Pokemon in one final hit.

   It had been three years now since that fateful evolution, and Golduck had been one of her harshest battlers since, right up there with Gyarados. He had become swift, headstrong, and sassy. His psychic abilities were no longer dependant on his headaches, able to summon powerful Psychic attacks at will, and his Hydro Pumps were often able to knock out many opponent’s Pokemon in just one hit.

   Misty had to move him up to only facing challenges that had seven badges after that.

   But one thing that hadn’t changed about Golduck was his loyalty to Misty, never failing to carry out an order given by her. She had been glad that she hadn’t had a Charizard-situation on her hands, though to be fair to the lizard he hadn’t been with Ash for as nearly as long as she had been with Psyduck at the time of their evolutions.

   Misty cursed to herself as she thought of Charizard– knowing right to where her mind was heading now.

   “Okay Ponyta,” Misty said, pulling her focus to the Pokemon in front of her as Ash entered her thoughts. “Everyone else is practicing moves of their types right now,” She pointed towards the pool where Seadra was firing a Scald at Golduck. “So why don’t we do the same?”

   Misty’s insides shriveled as she watched the Ponyta draw back, looking at the pool in fear. The fire type’s flames were crackling nervously, hooves pawing at the ground. Misty bit her lip, not sure of what to do. Ponyta’s abandonment had clearly had an affect on the young Pokemon, having left it petrified at the sight of water. It made sense... but she didn’t quite know how to handle it.

   She was a water type trainer, and she was training a Pokemon that was afraid of water.

   “Ponyta,” Misty said, snapping to break the Ponyta’s focus on the pool– which they were far from. “Can you used Ember on the target?”

   She pointed to the targets she had set up, basically giant blue pins designed to take Pokemon attacks. The Ponyta’s ears flicked up towards Misty, before it lowered itself into a charging position. True to her orders, the Ponyta opened its mouth, releasing a burst of sparks out. The Ember attack landed on the nearest target, and the Ponyta looked nervously at Misty.

   ‘Be the support you know they need,' Ash had once said about working with Pokemon like this.

   “Good job, Ponyta,” Misty praised the Pokemon, but it only gave her a wary glance. Misty’s heart tightened– what was she doing wrong? Yes, she knew that this Ponyta’s last trainer was nothing but horrible to this poor thing, but she had been nothing but gentle. “Now use Flame Charge.”

   The Ponyta charged forward, fire surrounding her whole form as she slammed right into a pin, knocking it down. The pin popped right back up, since they were designed and weighted to do just that– but Ponyta recoiled as if it were about to attack her. She bolted as far away from the targets as swiftly as possible, shivering against the wall as she let out a fearful neigh.

   Several of Misty’s training Pokemon paused, looking towards Ponyta uncertainly. Golduck tapped a webbed foot impatiently, while Seadra swam to the edge of the pool– soon joined by Spheal and Chinchou. Dewgong, Corsola, Marril, and Politoed had been training dry land, and they too were all looking towards Ponyta as well. This didn’t seem to help the Pokemon in anyway however, the Ponyta starting to slam itself against the wall as if trying to get away.

   “Ponyta, calm down,” Misty said in a gentle tone, but her words fell to empty ears. She hesitated, not sure if approaching the Ponyta would be the best option at the moment– she didn’t want any burns. She took a step forward. “Ponyta!” She called a bit louder. “It’s okay, please calm down!”

   Raising her voice had made her heard– but not in the way she had wanted. The Ponyta froze up as soon as she had spoken up, the Pokemon going completely still save for the flames on her mane and tail. Her ears were raised in alarm, wide eyes glued to Misty.

   Misty closed her eyes, knowing that they weren’t going to get anywhere today.

   She pulled out the Ponyta’s dive ball, aiming it at the Pokemon. “Return...”

   A burst of red light escaped the blue Pokeball, recalling her to the sphere. Misty waved her hand at the rest of her Pokemon that were currently out. They took her singal to return to their training, hesitantly pulling their attention from Misty and back to their battles. Misty stared down at the dive ball, feeling utterly lost.

   Normally she’d be in town at the moment– having her lunch break with Brock like usual. But he had bailed on her, having called a few days back and telling her that he’d be unable to make it to their regular lunches. He had said that he would be able to make it to her gym to celebrate, though.

   Not that it would be the same without Ash.

   Brock was a big brother– a best friend. Someone who looked out for her as family should, and someone she looked out for in return. Well, more like looking out for the poor girls that were bound to become his latest crush, though Brock had gotten better with keeping his emotions in over the years. Even so, Misty could still see the way he was drawn towards women at times. Honestly, it was practically a miracle that he was able to work in the same building as Nurse Joy.

   But Ash... he was different. Selfless without end, willing to do anything that could benefit another, even if it would put himself at risk. His dedication had always stood out to her, the way the smallest things could make him so happy, and of course his smile. His endearing, huge, smile– one that never failed to make her smile in return.

   Misty rubbed her head– of course she couldn’t think about Ash without bringing up these feelings. She was an adult now, she should be long over any crush– but when it came to Ash it simply refused to leave.

-------------------------------------

   “Prepare for trouble!” Jessie declared with her usual dramatic flare, flashing a smirk at Brock, Lillie, and Gladion.

   “And make it double!” James cried, standing next to her.

   “To protect our island from devastation!”

   “To perfect training while on a vacation!”

   “To learn the types and fight with skill!”

   “To have a fair battle and win for real!”

   “Jessie!”

   “And James!”

   “We will now defeat you at the speed of light!”

   “Don’t surrender because we need this fight!”

   The two of them paused for a moment as they reached this point in the motto, and even Brock found himself waiting for the third member of their trio to pop out. Yet only silence fell across the island, and James paled.

   “Um... that’s right?” James said uncertainly, muttering Meowth’s usual line.

   “Wobb-a-fet!” Wobbuffet added as he bursted out of his Pokeball, striking a pose next to Jessie.

   They held their pose for a moment longer, before relaxing as they each pulled out a Pokeball. Brock regarded warily them for a moment, deciding that they had at least changed somewhat over the years. Jessie’s hair was no longer ridiculously long, though her magenta hair did still fall past her shoulders. James’ skin was currently tanned, suggesting that they had been in Alola for sometime– probably as long as Ash had been.

   They weren’t wearing matching outfits either– or any uniform for that matter. They were dressed as one would expect from tourists; short pants and skirt, hats, sunglasses, and brightly colored shirts. However it wasn’t over the top like their disguises often were, and Brock decided this was their normal attire now days.

   “You know,” Brock said. “I’m not even surprised that you’re here, Team Rocket.”

   The two of them stiffened up, spinning to face Brock.

   “We’re not part of Team Rocket!” Jessie cried.

   “It was disbanded four years ago and–” James added, but froze as his eyes fell on Brock. The two males stared at each other for a moment, then James leaned over towards Jessie. “It’s the tall twerp!”

   He was whispering, but Brock could still make out his words loud and clear.

   “What’s Tall Twerp calling us Rocket for– he helped disband Team Rocket!” Jessie whispered back, and Brock shifted uncertainly. Usually there was giant robots and demands to hand over his Pokemon at this point.

   “Never mind that– what are we supposed to do? Do you think the Boss wants him here?” James asked.

  “Why wouldn’t he?” Jessie hissed.

   Brock glanced back towards Lillie and Gladion– he honestly had no idea of what to make of their so-called ‘whispering’. Lillie gave Brock an uncertain smile, which made his heart skip a beat, but she didn’t seem nervous at all. Clearly she had faced Team Rocket before, and knew that they weren’t of any true threat.

   Gladion on the other hand looked downright bored, leaning up against a palm tree. His eyes were cold as usual, almost sour as he turned his head towards Brock. He shivered as Gladion glared at him, and Brock swiftly took his gaze away from Lillie, his palms feeling warm. He wasn’t doing anything! Why was Gladion like a watch-Arcanine!

   “He never said that Tall Twerp was allowed...” James looked hesitant, and Jessie rolled her eyes.

   “Fine!” She said, voice going from a loud whisper to just loud. “Sorry Tall Twerp, you don’t have clearance here. Go, Mimikyu!”

   She threw a luxury ball up into the air, releasing a Pokemon in a burst of white light. A Mimikyu took shape, the ghost type staring out at her opponents with gleaming eyes through its disguise. Brock couldn’t help but shiver in the presence of the Pokemon, while Toxicroak took a step forward.

   “Um–” Lillie began, but James sent out a Pokemon before she could finish speaking.

   “Cacturne, let’s do this!” James cried, releasing a towering Cacturne. “Drain Punch– now!”

   “Shadow Ball!” Jessie cried, and the Mimikyu began to form a purple sphere in front of her.

   “Poison Jab,” Brock said calmly, and Toxicroak leapt out of the way of the Drain Punch. He then darted forward towards the Mimikyu, the long red claw on his hand glowing purple. He stabbed it into the Mimikyu, sending her flying back. “Vulpix, Ember, keep some distance.”

   Vulpix leapt off of Brock shoulder, releasing a spray of Embers from his mouth. The burning sparks rained down on the Cacturne. The grass type stumbled back in surprise, but was able to hold her ground. She glanced back at James.

   “Play Rough!” Jessie ordered, her Mimikyu pushing itself back up. The ghost type leapt into the air. She crashed down onto Toxicroak, a cloud of dust surrounding them as she slammed herself against Toxicroak, thrashing the poison type below her. “Shadow Ball, don’t let up!”

   “Vul!” Vulpix cried, releasing another Ember as Cacturne.

   “Er, um– Payback!” James said, quickly scrambling for orders when he realized that he didn’t have time to order a dodge. Cacturne faintly started to glow with a dark aura as the Ember hit her. She grunted, the aura flaring up as the Cacturne was struck.

   “Vulpix, get back here!” Brock called to the young Pokemon, who had frozen up as the Payback doubled in power. The Cacturne charged down at him, preparing to strike Vulpix.

   “Tox!” Toxicroak cried. His side was marked from the Shadow Ball, but he threw himself in front of the Payback. His hand started to glow orange, slamming the Brick Break into the chest of the Cacturne before it could land its attack.

   Vulpix’s ears were flat against his head, most of his tails tucked between his legs. He spun around as Toxicroak took over the battle, racing back towards Brock. Vulpix let out a whimper, throwing himself into Brock’s arms. He pressed Vulpix to his chest, running a hand down his back, eyes remaining on the battle.

   Toxicroak had managed to throw the Cacturne back, before sending a Vacuum Wave, the burst of fighting aura sucking in the air around it as it was launched. It had hit Cacturne in the head, causing her to stumble about as she tried to rise back up into the air.

   He had then tried to land a Brick Break onto the Mimikyu– only for the attack to harmlessly pass through its ghostly body.

   “Ghost type, huh?” Brock muttered. “Pursuit then!”

   Toxicroak started to glow with a dark light, leaping after the Mimikyu. It began to form a Shadow Claw, a black shape slithering out from under the Pikachu-shaped cloth. The claws were raked across Toxicroak’s chest.

   “Are you okay Cacturne?” James asked, at his Pokemon’s side. The weakened Cacturne looked up at James, before wrapping her spiky arms around him. “Ouch!”

   Toxicroak pulled to the side as another Shadow Claw was aimed at him. He raised a hand, his long talon glowing with toxic energy. He brought the Poison Jab down onto the Mimikyu, the attack making the Pokemon let out a horrible hissing sound. He brought his other arm around, another Poison Jab sending the Mimikyu back towards Jessie.

   The poisoned Mimikyu collapsed to the ground, writhing.

   “Vul-pix!” Vulpix cried happily, peering out from Brock’s chest to glare at Team Rocket.

   The Mimikyu managed to dragged itself back up, despite Jessie having pulled out her Pokeball. A small Shadow Ball started to form in front on the Mimikyu, the attack crackling as it tried to take shape. A weakened Cacturne peeled herself away from James, stumbling to engage Toxicroak. The poison type raised an arm up, beginning to form a Vacuum Wave.

   “Fake Out, Meowth!” A new voice called, and a powerful shockwave was sent out at Toxicroak. The fighting type cringed as it was hit, the Vacuum Wave faded away as he flinched. A sleek, cream colored Pokemon sprang out onto the battlefield, nervously staring up at Toxicroak. “Hidden Power!”

   The Meowth held out its paws, a silvery sphere forming. The sphere flared to a dark purple, and the Meowth launched the psychic Hidden Power at Toxicroak. Brock’s eyes widened, watching as Toxicroak doubled-over as the attack hit him in the chest.

   Toxicroak then let out a cry of pain, falling to the sand, defeated.

   Meowth’s eyes widened as well, looking very startled at the fact that he had just defeated a fighting type. He looked down at his claws, flexing them as if impressed at what they had just accomplished. Brock gawked at the final member of the trio, knowing that Meowth was far from a fighter.

   “Now what was that?” A new voice asked– the same one that had ordered the Fake Out. Brock pulled his gaze away from Meowth, watching as someone walked out of the treeline and onto the beach, arms crossed. “Jessie– what typing is a Toxicroak?”

   Jessie looked down at her feet. “...Fighting...” She muttered, hesitating before adding: “And poison.”

   “And what is Mimikyu weak to?” The man asked, brown eyes narrowed.

   “Poison...” Jessie grumbled, glancing at her weakened Mimikyu.

   “And what about you, James?” The man asked, turning to face James.

   “Cacturne is weak to both fighting and poison,” James replied simply. Brock’s gaze was shifting between the former Rockets and the man, not sure of what to make of what he was seeing. Meowth was prodding the fallen Toxicroak with one claw, making the frog groan.

   Meowth quickly scrambled back, tucking his paws behind his back as if it hadn’t been him, looking up at the sky and whistling.

   “Correct,” The man said. “And as a poison and fighting type, Toxicroak gains a huge weakness against what typing?”

   “Psychic,” James responded eagerly.

   “And since both of you have access to psychic types– why on earth would you use Pokemon at a type disadvantage?” The man asked, raising an eyebrow.

   Jessie rolled her eyes. “Oh come on– you battle that way all the time,” She gestured to Meowth. “You used a normal type against a fighting type just now– you don’t have a right to lecture us on this!”

   The man smirked slightly. “That may be true– but I have much more experience with professional battling than you two, and Meowth also had access to moves that gave him an advantage over a Toxicroak when his typing didn’t.”

   “Ha!” Meowth grinned victorious, smirking up at his companions.

   “Now recall your Pokemon and go get them healed up, clearly we need to go over typings once more–”

  “Ash?!” Brock asked as he at last found his voice, staring at the dark haired man in pure shock. The man paused mid sentence, then for the first time glanced over at Brock. He stared for a moment, blinking– then a smile spread over his face.

   “Brock!” Ash cried happily, the smile turning into a grin. Ash let out a hearty laugh, swiftly making his way over to Brock. “I was not expecting to see you here– how are ya?” Ash threw an arm around Brock, then flashed a smile behind him. “Hey Lillie, Gladion, didn’t think I’d see you two this soon again!”

   “Hi,” Lillie said, smiling. Brock uncertainly returned the hug, still stunned at the sight before him. Gladion said nothing, merely giving Ash a nod.

   Ash turned back towards Jessie and James. “Guys, you know Brock! You didn’t need to attack him!”

   “You never said the Tall Twerp was allowed, Boss,” Jessie said, crossing her arms. Her Wobbuffet pressed up against her, and she recalled him to a Pokeball. “But you did say to protect the island and the Pokemon on it.”

   Ash rolled his eyes. “And since when would Brock be a threat?” Ash flashed a grin at Brock. “Sorry about them. Anyways– what brings you to Alola?”

   “Um...” Brock’s thoughts were racing a hundred miles per hour, but yet struggling to catch up. “Did you, um... order Meowth into battle?”

   Ash chuckled, patting his shoulder. Meowth raced towards Ash, leaping and settling up on Ash’s shoulder. The raven haired boy scratched Meowth behind the ear, and the feline tensed. Brock could see the conflict in the proud Pokemon’s eyes, but after a moment the cat relax, a loud purr echoing from him.

   “Sure did, he’s one of my newest catches,” Ash said, and Meowth pushed his hand away.

   “Hey, stop dat!” Meowth snapped. “You’re making me all soft when ya do dat, Boss!”

   Ash grinned. “But you love it.”

   Meowth let out a mutter under his breath, Brock able to catch a few mumbles of him cursing humans for their amazing petting skills. Meowth’s claws dug into Ash’s shirt, tail curling around his neck. Brock just stared– he had seen many things throughout his life, from legendaries to the very world being in danger– but seeing Team Rocket’s Meowth curled up on Ash’s shoulder contently put him at lost for words.

   “You... caught Meowth?” Brock asked weakly.

   “Long story,” Meowth huffed, puffing up slightly. Sharp blue eyes locked on Brock, and he quickly looked away.

   Jessie and James had been silent during the whole exchanged, having simply recalled their Pokemon. Brock had been too stunned to return Toxicroak, but by the time the thought crossed his mind the Pokemon had already pushed itself to his feet as it recovered from its defeat. Toxicroak shot a bitter glare at the Team Rocket, before returning himself to his Pokeball.

   Vulpix looked up at Brock, not sure of what to make of his confusion.

   “Nonsense, we have time,” Ash said, grinning at Brock. “It’s been a while since we’ve seen each other, and I’m sure he has time to chat! And I’m sure he’d love to hear about everything that’s happened to you guys, and I’d love to hear why he’s in Alola.”

   Brock gave an uncertain smile– it was quite clear that Ash and Team Rocket were on speaking terms, but he didn’t know what to make of that. He knew that Ash was forgiving... but forgiving enough to forgive those who had basically stalked you for years– and had repeatedly tried to steal your best friend from you?!

   That’s when Brock realized that someone was missing.

   “Where’s Pikachu?” Brock asked, glancing around for a certain yellow mouse.

   Ash’s smile faded, and the former-Rocket members tensed. “Oh... he’s around, I’m sure.”

   “You’re sure?” Brock echoed uncertainly.

   Ash shrugged. “He’s not too happy with everything, but he’s fine,” He glanced back at Jessie and James. “If you guys see Pikachu at all will you send him my way? I’m sure he wants to see Brock.”

   “Sure thing, Boss!” They chimed together– and then before anyone could say another word they scrambled off into the forest just as swiftly as they had popped out. Brock stared at where they had ran off, blinking.

   “‘Boss’?” Brock asked.

   Ash rolled his eyes. “They insist– no matter how many times I tell them not to call me that.”

   “The one we follow is our boss– and so you’re our boss now,” Meowth replied.

   Ash shook his head. “No, I’m your trainer, and I’m their teacher,” Ash smiled at Brock’s confused gaze. “It’s part of our deal, I’ll tell you more in a bit. Come on, let me show you around– then we can talk!”

   “Me and Gladion can stay here on the beach,” Lillie offered, speaking up for the first time since the battle. “I mean, it’s been awhile since you’ve seen each other, so don’t let me and Gladion get in the way of you guys catching up.”

   “What?” Ash asked. “No way! Pikachu would Thunderbolt me into oblivion if he missed out on seeing you, and then you know how much the Snivys love you, Lillie! And of course I need Gladion to see who Swellow just brought back.”

   Gladion closed his eyes. “More baby birds?”

   Ash grinned. “This one’s special– come on, and I’ll show ya!”

   Ash’s invitation clearly wasn’t allowed to be rejected. His hand closed around Brock’s wrist, tugging him towards the tree line. Brock stumbled after his friend, Lillie and Gladion several steps behind them as they were taken towards the center of the island. Brock blinked at Ash, before smiling at the bright gleam in his friend’s eyes, pure excitement in them.

   Sometimes Brock wondered if Ash had truly made it to adulthood, or if he had somehow managed to remain a ten year old forever.

#pokeshipping #Ash Ketchum #misty pokemon #brock pokemon #lillie pokemon #fanfiction

[dietsauthority]

Acro Yoga Asanas and Benefits

It has two major institutions - Acro yoga exercise Inc. which was produced by Jason Nemer and also Jenny Klein in California and Acro yoga Montreal, which was begun in 2001 by Jessie Goldberg and Eugene Poku. The former makes use of the wisdom of Balancings, Yoga along with different healing arts including Thai massaging. The latter on the other hand integrates balancings as well as yoga exercise with various dance performances.

Acro yoga exercise Inc. has three major parts. These are Solar Acrobatic Practices, Lunar Recovery Arts Practices and Yogic Practices.

Solar Acrobatic methods include teaching the adherent acrobatic moves that inculcate depend on as well as heart empowerment. Companion balancings is a method that is based as much on trust fund as it gets on practice and skill. The various holds, headstands, handstands and also lifts need trusting your companion completely with your most valuable possession, your body. Thus acrobatic practices assists you depend on others and also make them trust you better too.

These techniques likewise enhance the spirit of synergy. They work as building blocks for your body's strength. Regular workouts such as Press ups, down pet dog press ups, abdominal workouts as well as companion conditioning drills help strengthen your muscles and also prepare you for additionally more strenuous regimens. This technique has 3 major goals - the base or mentor you simple acrobatics, the leaflet or teaching you to rely on dance relocations that allow you to fly and also the spotter that assists you accomplish the above safely.

Lunar Recovery arts consist of the expertise of massage therapies and their recovery powers and companion yoga exercise. Massage therapies have actually been recognized for their rejuvenating and also enjoyable residential or commercial properties. Nonetheless massages could be used for stabilizing our bodies as well as consequently healing it. Companion yoga exercise consists of utilizing one another's weight, breath as well as spirit to stabilize that of one's very own. It uses gravity, level of sensitivity, caring kindness, feeling and also releasing and also instills trust too.

Yoga techniques works as the missing web link connecting solar acrobatics and also lunar healing arts. Yoga as we all recognize is more compared to just a set of workouts, it's a way of living. Practice of yoga assists us recognize ourselves better. It assists us unlock our hidden powers. While solar balancing deals a lot more with trust fund between companions as well as utilizing your strengths to disclose those of the various other, yoga techniques aid you to know those of on your own. Yoga instills humbleness, dedication and devotion.

Acro yoga exercise is practiced in communities. As you improve as well as reach higher levels you get certificates noting your progression! It is a system based on a fragile balance in between receiving and also offering and stamina and sensitivity

Acro yoga exercise's Montreal sect saw its development in the Special Blend trip of Eugene Poku as well as Jessie Goldberg, when they realized that the connections in between yoga and balancing went method much deeper than an uniformity of principles.

So they combined the different bandhas (internal locks) dristi (look) ujiay breath (seemed breath) and also vinyasa circulation, with various dance types like contemporary, jazz, ballet, improvisation and also mask work. Yoga exercise and acrobatics promoted a rely on one's very own self as well as one's companion that is critical for all type of dancing. When Eugene and Jessie saw this, they uncovered the significance of Acro yoga.

The acro yoga exercise Montreal's required is that "Similar to b-boying, Acro Yoga will certainly come to be a perspective and way of living - not just actions or types, yet an ever transforming chameleon that adapts to the specialist and their atmosphere."

#diet #diets that work #high fiber diet #lemonade diet #low glycemic diet

[noodlecupcakes]

Ultraviolence - Chapter 1 (Mafia AU)

So by popular demand welcome to the mafia AU

Warnings: Flirting, Tension, Trust no bitch

Shout at me if you want to be added to the taglist

Chapter 1

Roxy’s P.O.V

I entered the club, my huge black trench coat hiding my more colourful uniform underneath. It was my first shift at The Saviours Gentlemen’s club and to say I was nervous would be an understatement. I had no idea what I would be doing tonight or how people would react to me. I spotted the manager, David over by the bar with another male who had blonde chin length hair and a nasty scar running down the side of his face. David turned to greet me. “Roxy, glad to see you. Sherry’s gonna look after you tonight, teach you the ropes,” he spoke. I nodded with a soft smile, looking around for this ‘Sherry’.

Sherry stuck her head out from behind a door that had been half open. She was a slim, pretty, brunette, wearing a royal blue silk dress with matching shoes. “You talking about me again?” She spoke. “Need you to look after the new girl for the night. Make sure she doesn’t get herself into trouble,” David joked. Sherry came over to me and took my hand in hers, smiling softly before leading me over to the room she had just left. This room was a dressing room. About eight other girls were in the room including Sherry and I, all of them beautiful and wearing different coloured silk dresses. All the same tight fitting dress, just all different colours of the rainbow.

Except there was no red. I removed my coat and hung it on an empty peg, revealing my uniform. Now there was some red. The dress reached just above my knees, showing off my legs and arms. Yet no cleavage, which I was surprised at what with this being a gentleman’s club and all. I guess the owner was going for the classy yet sexy type of staff. I could respect that, especially looking at some of the girls here. There was a cute little blonde in the corner wearing a baby pink dress, she also looked the youngest out of all of us. Sherry introduced her as Amber. Then there was Grace, Frankie, Tanya, Sabrina and Ruby.

Sherry gave me a dressing table next to hers and we began to prepare for the evening ahead. “So, any things I should know about? Like things the manager won’t tell me?” I asked. Sherry laughed, “I like you already, not half an hour into your shift and you’re asking all the right questions. Well for starters the owner of the club shall be coming here tonight so its best behaviour for all of us. Do not get close to him whatever you do, the mans like a bloodhound for fresh meat. You don’t want to end up in his bed too.” “Wait, what?” “We have bets to see how long it’ll take before the new girl sleeps with him. All of us have at least once. Don’t get me wrong he’s hot as hell and my god the sex was mind blowing but I wouldn’t date him. He can be a bit of an asshole.”

“Aren’t most men?” “You’ll know him when you see him. So, rules. No running off with any guests to dark corners of the club, no dancing with any of the guests, if you spill a drink on a guest god help you, your allowed to take small breaks to do any hair or makeup adjustments. And careful with who you flirt with,” Sherry explained. “Because men are assholes?” “Exactly.” Sherry looked me over to make sure I looked perfect and not a single curl was out of place. She smiled, happy with how I looked before giving herself one final look in the mirror. “Ok so tonight you’ll be serving drinks with Ruby. I’ll be on cigarettes, so if you need me I’ll be in the same sort of area as you,” Sherry smiled.

I turned to Ruby who was wearing a black dress. Needless to say, if I had a man I would not leave him in the same room as her. She looked like an ice queen that was for sure. Ruby smiled and linked her arm with mine, leading me out of the room. “So, you’re on the easy job tonight, take drink orders, get Dwight to make them, bring them back to the guest. I’m sure you can manage that,” she spoke. I didn’t like the tone of her voice. I knew what to do, I’d been a waitress for the last year and a half…so much for this being an upgrade.

Ruby and I went to two tables next to each other and took orders before heading to the bar where the blonde guy who I know knew as Dwight made the drinks. He was quiet and that scar was a little unnerving but I suppose most people were around new people. Ruby made sure Dwight had her back turned before opening her mouth. “Don’t worry about him, he’s only like that because Sherry cheated on him.” I raised an eyebrow. So, Ruby was the bitchy, gossipy type. Still curiosity got the better of me and I motioned for her to continue. “She told you that we’ve all slept with the owner, right? Yeah well not all of us were single when they did it. She talks a lot of bullshit, a lot of her ‘rules’ are bullshit. You can dance with a guest if they request it. It’s our job to be a good hostess, a dance is harmless,” Ruby continued.

Ruby did have a point. Maybe because Sherry was a cheat she was trying to weed out any competition by making these fake rules. And I thought there was a lot of bitcheness at my last job. At that moment, I watched as two men entered the club. One of them was around 6’3’, a huge moustache and grin on his face. He was wearing a dark grey suit with a black tie. The other male that stood next to him was enough to make me weak at the knees. Tall, dark and handsome indeed. His black hair was slicked back, not a single hair out of place either. There was a small but noticeable scar at the top of his left cheekbone. He was wearing a black suit with red tie. Ruby noticed the way I was staring and smiled.

“Is that the owner?” I asked. “No. The owners actually a really ugly piece of shit, again Sherry likes to fuck with people. Go get him some drinks like a good little host.” There were another two men that had sat down with the men who had just entered. The handsomest one sat in the centre and I could feel his gaze on me. I avoided eye contact knowing the second it was made I was a goner. His were not the only set of eyes on me however. A guy who sat on his right was really eyeing me up. I didn’t pay much attention, I had a job to do. “Can I get you gentlemen anything to drink?” I asked in the sweetest voice I could muster. Whiskey, Vodka, Rum and Scotch. I flashed the hot one a smile before heading back to the bar.

I gathered the glasses on my tray and headed back over, handing out the drinks. As I handed over the scotch to the hot one, his fingers brushed up against mine…probably on purpose but that didn’t stop the feeling that washed over me. He thanked me, taking a sip. “You are a thing of beauty,” the guy on the right spoke. “Actually, I’m not a thing,” I smiled, “if you need refills don’t hesitate to let me know.” I turned on my heel and walked back to the bar, feeling a little proud of myself.

A little while later the hot one made his way over to me, setting his empty glass on the bar’s counter top. He was a little close, a small smirk on his face. “Would you dance with me sweetheart?” He asked. I smiled to myself and put my tray down, “of course.” He took my hand in his and led me over to the dance floor where a few other couples were dancing. The song changed to a much slower paced one and the man put his free hand on my waist, whilst I put mine on his shoulder. We slowly swayed to the music. “I’m Negan,” he finally introduced himself. “Roxy.” “I haven’t seen you around here before.”

“Sounds like you’re a regular,” I replied. He smiled, “you could say that.” “It’s my first shift, hence why you haven’t seen me before.” “Well I hope to be seeing a lot more of you.” “You will. So, what is it you do?” “I own a little club just like this one, a few other things too,” he winked. That’s when the realisation hit me. Ruby had lied. This was the owner I was now currently dancing with. Oh god. Negan felt me tense a little and smiled kindly.

“No need to be worried sweetheart. I’m guessing you’ve been told a lot of different contradictory things,” he spoke. “You could say that.” “Well for starters, anything that comes out of Ruby’s mouth tends to be a lie, which I’m sure you now know. Secondly, you’re not meant to be dancing with guests. It’s against the rules.” “Well you asked me to dance, meaning you’re a bad influence.” “Sweetheart you have no idea. Luckily for you I’m not just any guest so you won’t be getting into any trouble.” “Good because trouble tends to have a way of finding me.” “I know the feeling.”

The song came to a close and both of us parted. “I suppose I should let you get back to work,” Negan smirked. “You should.” I went back to the bar and resumed service without interruption for the rest of my shift. I noticed a small slip of paper on my tray. A string of numbers as well as a name. His name and his number. People were going to talk, my first shift and I already had more than the owner's attention.

Taglist: @astrangegirlsmind, @genevievedarcygranger, @warriorqueen1991, @jessie-cake1994-blog, @grungedaddykinks, @eldritchmortician, @ladylorelitany, @mwesterfeld1985, @isayweallgetdrunk, @almostinwonderland, @jungle-feeveer, @negans-network, @slothdoll, @flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash, @jml509, @glittered-unicorn-lava, @thewew, @neganisking, @jmackie1983, @cranberrysymphony, @negans-girl, @ali-pennell, @thamberlina, @backseat-negan, @libby822, @harleysandbats, @ibelongtonegan, @kellyn1604, @badsongwinchester, @jeffreydeanneganstrash, @haleyea, @jeffreydeanmorganownsme, @robert-d-j-bernthal, @phoenixsnape1, @abbessthegoddess, @multi-villain-imagines, @shadowpriestess6, @jdms-network, @alwaysartist, @neeadinghugs, @magikat409, @loveforfilm, @toxic-ink, @sherrybaby14, @mayuketchupytostones, @londoncapsule, @despoina-nt, @poppinjeffrey, @darkmarceline28, @josadeca

#negan #negan au #negan fanfiction #negan smut #neganxoc #neganxroxy #mafia au #walking dead #walking dead au #walking dead fanfiction #walking dead smut #ultraviolence #mafia negan #Jeffrey Dean Morgan

[krissysbookshelf]

Enjoy An Exclusive Sneek Peek of: #famous by Jilly Gagnon!

Rachel likes Kyle. Rachel snaps a photo of Kyle and posts it online. Kyle becomes insta-famous. And what starts out as an innocent photo turns into a whirlwind adventure that forces them both to question whether fame—and love—are worth the price…and changes both of their lives forever.  

LEARN MORE

Chapter One

RACHEL

TUESDAY, 4:15 P.M.

Loving your mom can lead to some seriously bad decisions.

I’d agreed to tag along on her quest for face creams mainly out of boredom. But the mall with my mother on a Tuesday afternoon—as though I suddenly believed in the calming effects of retail therapy? We’d been here maybe ten minutes and already I was regretting it.

We were almost at the makeup counter that was our raison de mall when she grabbed a black, fluttery top with laces winding up and down the front.

“Ooh, Rachel, isn’t this nice?” She held it out to me. It looked like batwings in a corset.

“Not my style.” I pushed the shirt away, turning to a rack of oversized sweatshirts in neon-bright colors. Where had she even found that thing?

“No, not for you, for me. I think it’s cool. Edgy. Don’t you?” She held the shirt at arm’s length. One chunk of frizzy hair fell from behind her ear onto her cheek. She always cut it too short; at that length, hair as electrical-socket nutso as ours would not be contained behind mere ears.

“Sure, Mom.” I’d be pretty shocked to see my mom commit to a shirt she had to lace herself into. Usually her style tended toward neutral-colored sacks, but if she really wanted to dress like a vampire, I wasn’t going to tell her no. Besides, it’s kind of awesome when parents try to be cool, like watching a baby sloth play the piano or something. Terrible on the execution, and therefore adorable.

“Hey, do you care if I go get something at the food court? I went straight to ceramics club after sixth period, so I didn’t have a chance to get a snack.” Things would move a lot faster if she didn’t have me to bounce awful fashion ideas off of.

She glanced at her watch. “Meet me back here in fifteen minutes. I don’t want to spend the whole evening at the mall.”

“Sure,” I said over my shoulder.

“And don’t be drinking one of those gallon-sized sodas,” she said. “They’re poison.”

Mom was always finding some new threat to my precious development. Too late: I’d topped out at five foot three years ago.

I felt my phone buzz against my hip bone as I passed by Banana Republic, its faceless, elongated mannequins watching disdainfully as I rounded the Wet Seal, following the faint scent of tasty greases.

(From MO-MO): Do you have a new draft of Twice Removed ready yet? I don’t think I’ll be able to look at it until the weekend, but we need to be on top of this.

(To MO-MO): No, I had ceramics today. I’ll work on it soon—we still have what, three months until the deadline?

(From MO-MO): There’s no point in putting it off.

Mo must be stressed about something; trying to micromanage someone else was always her go-to when she had too much on her plate. We were applying together to a summer playwriting program with Twice Removed, but the due date for applications was forever away, and I was doing more of the writing regardless—Mo was more into performing, which meant I usually just let her help with edits. There was no point in calling Mo on it though, unless you wanted to intensify her stress-crazies. The best thing was to divert her to whatever she really wanted to talk about, so you wouldn’t start arguing about not-really-the-point.

(To MO-MO): Don’t worry. I’ll send you something by the time you’re able to look at it. Why so busy?

(From MO-MO): Did I ever mention how much I hate Europeans?

(To MO-MO): That’s racist.

(From MO-MO): You can’t be racist against a continent.

(From MO-MO): Trying to absorb the entirety of their pointless history—which is all just wars and oppressing women, BTW—is making my head hurt. I am SO going to fail this test.

Doubtful. Monique never failed anything. We’d been best friends since we were in diapers, and I couldn’t remember her ever even getting a B. In third grade, she made two entire projects for the science fair in case one was better than the other.

(To MO-MO): That’s what you get for taking smart-kid classes EVEN FOR ELECTIVES.

(To MO-MO): Guess how hard my Art II test will be? Oh wait, we don’t have one.

(From MO-MO): I hate you.

(From MO-MO): I take it back. Distract me. If my head explodes I at least want to die laughing.

I looked around for something I could send to Monique. We had this ongoing game where we’d send each other funny pictures on Flit (basically anything that got an out-loud reaction—from snort to guffaw—scored a point, honors system) and the mall was the perfect spot to play. Monique loved unintentional double entendres or grammar mistakes on store signs. I usually sent funny graffiti or dogs in clothes. There’s something about a dog wearing pants that never gets old.

I glanced around as I made my way across the mall to the food court, but nothing jumped out at me. And now that I was getting close enough to really smell all the different kinds of grease in the air, there was no way I’d be able to focus on the game. I was too hungry to hunt down a costumed Pomeranian. Food would have to come first. I spun around slowly, trying to figure out what I was in the mood for.

There was the depressingly beige buffet of breaded meat bits at China House (pass), sushi that was probably fresh off the boat a week ago at Japan EXPRESS (side of food poisoning, please?), Mrs. Butterbun’s Cookie Shoppe (even thinking about putting an inch of frosting on a cookie made my teeth hurt) . . .

That’s when I saw him.

Kyle Bonham.

Instinctively, I ducked my head over my phone and half turned away, so he wouldn’t think I was staring.

I was, obviously—you couldn’t help but stare at Kyle. He was about a thousand miles away from my type—so clean-cut he could be in an ad for drinking enough milk—and still I went fricking googly-eyed whenever I saw him. Extra embarrassing since I had fifth period with him every single day—it was only a matter of time until he caught me drooling.

He was standing behind the register at the Burger Barn, solemnly counting out change for a little girl who couldn’t be more than seven or eight. She had this dreamy, beaming look on her face, like she was so proud to be getting treated like a grown-up, or maybe like she was half in love with him.

You and me both, babe.

He placed a final coin in her palm and straightened up, his shaggy brown hair flopping over his forehead in perfect just-barely-curls. Somehow he looked even hotter here than he did at school. The burnt-orange Burger Barn T-shirt he was wearing made his eyes—a little too far apart on his face, which made them even more beautiful—look greener. He somehow managed to make his pointed paper uniform cap seem jaunty and alluring.

I looked down at myself. I was wearing a shapeless old oxford I’d stolen from my dad’s Goodwill pile. It was so long it made me look like a little kid playing dress-up, and it had clay all over the hem from where my apron hadn’t covered it up. Then of course there were the faded leggings, starting to go baggy at the knees, the Chuck Taylors that had gotten so scuffed over the summer I wasn’t even sure anymore what color they’d started as, and the sloppy side braid that did approximately nothing to contain the bursts of dark-brown frizz I call my hair.

Great look, Rach. No wonder Monique was always asking to give me makeovers. I was a fricking disaster.

Not that it mattered; I was not the kind of girl guys like Kyle Bonham—or really, any guy—paid much attention to. I’d managed to stay pretty much invisible for my entire high school career by hiding out in the art room. Especially to the painfully adorable lacrosse-star seniors who go out of their way to make even eight-year-olds feel special.

An older couple shuffled up to the register, staring perplexedly at the dozen or so variations on meat and cheese the Burger Barn packaged as “specials.” Kyle watched them blankly, looking like someone out of one of those catalogs where everyone is leaning against rustic wooden furniture just “being themselves.”

I should totally send a picture of him to Mo. After all, what could be a better distraction than a perfect-looking boy? Bonus: if I snapped a picture of Kyle I could look at it on my phone whenever. Yes, borderline pathetic, but it’s not like anyone would know but me.

I walked up behind the old woman, trying to look casual by keeping my phone down by my waist.

I tilted the phone up so Kyle’s face was in the frame. He was staring out over the rest of the food court while the older couple worked out their order. I couldn’t believe I was doing this; he was only a few feet away. Even with my flash and sound off, it would be so easy for him to realize what was going on.

But it would be worth it. In fact, this might be my best entry yet. Not like it was hard to find something better than a misplaced apostrophe, but this was gold-star emoji material.

As soon as he turned his head back toward the couple, I could take the picture quick and head over to the Pretzel Hut, like I’d realized I didn’t want anything Burger Barn had on the menu. At least, not on the food menu.

“Well I don’t know, Fred, I don’t think I want triple cheese. Can’t we get regular cheese?”

“Ma’am, if you like, I can substitute the cheese,” Kyle said, smiling easily at the older woman. She seemed startled that he was talking to her. Enough so that she shifted over into my frame right as I was clicking to take the picture.

Well, crap-sandwich. Great photo of old-lady shoulder, Rach.

I shifted my weight onto my left foot, easing over as imperceptibly as I could. Just move your arm, Grandma…

That’s when I saw her, sulking in the line for the Caribou kiosk about twenty feet past the entrance to the food court: Jessie Florenzano.

. . . and her mom, waving cheerily at me like I wasn’t the last person Jessie wanted to see, especially with her mom in tow. Jessie had been embarrassed by her even before our friendship imploded.

Jessie raised an eyebrow as though she could smell what I was doing. I dropped the phone down to my side and waved back. Jessie rolled her eyes and turned her back on me. I could see her whispering sharply to her mom, who smiled apologetically, then turned to Jessie, frowning. There were very few people I’d rather see less than Jessie, anywhere, ever, but I kind of loved that her mom still automatically acted friendly, four years after Jessie had sliced me out of her life.

I turned back. Grandma was laughing and nudging her husband’s arm.

“You know how I love pickles!”

Ew. Not the mental image I needed before eating.

Kyle smiled and tapped at the register. If I moved my arm a couple more inches… but not too far. He couldn’t know what was happening, and Jessie couldn’t guess; it would be way too mortifying. He tapped his fingers on the counter in a rat-a-tat rhythm as the old lady dug through her wallet.

He was perfectly lined up in the frame, the last traces of a smile lingering on his smooth cheeks.

I glanced over at Jessie. She was resolutely pretending I didn’t exist. There was never going to be a better time.

Click.

He looked toward me for a second. Crap, I was totally caught. I could feel my cheeks burning, betraying me. My breath caught somewhere around my sternum and stopped there, trapped.

  But then he smiled and turned back to the customer, taking her pile of ones and quarters.

I exhaled, trying not to grin. I cropped the photo, typing in Mo’s Flit handle so she’d see it. This was even better than a German shepherd with a tie.

“It’s Rachel, right?”

I looked up, startled. The old couple had moved away to wait for their order, and Kyle was staring at me expectantly. I checked over my shoulder to make sure he wasn’t talking to someone else. Like the Burger Barn only served Rachels or something? But I was the only person in line.

“Um, yeah.” I felt my face going hot again. “Rachel. That’s me.” Oh god, I sounded like the worst kind of stupid. Quickly, I clicked to make my screen go dark.

He pointed at himself.

“Kyle.”

I just stared, totally incapable of forming words.

“We’re in Creative Writing together? Fifth period?”

As though I hadn’t spent every day of the three weeks since school started thanking all the gods for that fact.

“Right,” I said, trying to sound like a girl who didn’t eye assault him daily. “You sit in the back, right?”

“Yeah! So Jenkins won’t call on me too much. I’m not as good as you are at that stuff.”

“I’m not that good,” I said automatically, looking down at the counter. Someone had made a ketchupy fingerprint to the right of the register. Like a cheeseburger crime scene. I couldn’t believe he knew who I was. The semester had barely started, and I wasn’t even his year. Not only that, he had an opinion about me. A nice one.

“No, you are. That story of yours that Jenkins read yesterday was… well it was really weird, but, like, in a cool way,” he said.

“Oh. Um, thanks.” All my words were melting, puddling around my feet in a big sloppy jumble, too liquid-slippery for me to get a grip on. The story had been about a computer that got a weird virus that convinced the machine it was actually the ghost of Queen Elizabeth I. He’d already summed it up: It was weird. I was weird. I could feel my armpits stinging with sweat.

“Anyway, what can I get you, Rachel from writing class?” he said.

You, shirtless, on a stallion?

“Um… what do you mean?”

“To eat?” He frowned. It made his nose wrinkle upward, like it was tethered to his forehead. I was so flustered about him knowing my name that I’d forgotten where we were—in line, at his job. He was being nice because he worked service. For god’s sake, he flirted with the elderly. Even more blood rushed into my cheeks. If you poked them with a pin they’d probably burst everywhere. Like that scene in The Shining all over the Apple Prairie Mall food court.

“Oh, duh. Sorry, my blood sugar must be really low,” I said. That’s always Monique’s excuse when she gets ditzy or snippy. “I was thinking, um, french fries?”

“Small?”

“No, large,” I said quickly. I was starving. He grinned a little, which reminded me that the girls Kyle Bonham hung out with did not eat large fries. They’d probably cumulatively eaten half an order of fries in the last ten years, which was why they looked like miniature supermodels and I looked like the funny friend. “I like how the large container makes my hands look extra tiny and stunted. It helps me get perspective on life,” I added.

Oh dear god, someone take this shovel away from me so I can stop digging my own fricking grave.

He laughed though, shaking his head slightly. “You’re funny. Okay. One large fry is gonna be four thirty-six.”

I dug in my purse for the money. He counted out my change and went to grab the fries. I could feel my heart rate slowing back to “not having a coronary” speeds.

“There you go,” he said. “I think this is the right size for your hands,” he added, grabbing one of my tiny fingers and playfully lifting the whole arm up in the air.

His touch was like an electric shock tingling up my entire arm. I almost snatched it back; guys don’t usually go around grabbing my hands. Only guys like Kyle—guys who win state sports titles and homecoming king crowns—have the balls to do stuff like that in the first place. I hoped I hadn’t nervous sweated enough to pit out my shirt.

But somehow I managed to keep it together long enough for him to squint back and forth between my hand and the fry box, measuring the two against each other before finally nodding as though I’d passed muster.

“Yup, looks like a fit,” he said.

He dropped my hand. I tried to breathe again.

“HA.” I forced a laugh. Poorly. “I should go. I have to meet up with my mom.” Awesome, Rachel, add to your intrigue by reminding him you hang out with your mother.

“Enjoy the fries, Rachel from writing,” he said, grinning. “See you tomorrow.”

“Sure.” I gulped, nodding too many times, too fast. “See you around.”

I walked away as slowly as I could force myself to, which was just this side of a sprint.

Breathing hard, I plopped onto a bench near the fountain. That had been disastrous.

But at least I’d gotten my picture. That had been the point, right? To flit something goofy to Monique? I finished typing her handle, then—because of course I’m oh-so-witty the minute actual guys have disappeared—I typed in a hashtag.

Send.

Immediately, I felt a little twinge. What if he saw it? He’d know it was me.

But that wouldn’t happen. Kyle didn’t follow me—maybe ten people did. I flitted all the pictures in the game to Monique, I’d been doing it for months; no one had ever noticed them before. I think the most attention any of the pictures ever got was a single non-Mo luv, and that squirrel vest had been AWESOME. Why would anyone suddenly care about this one?

My phone pinged with the sound that meant I had a reflit.

I opened my feed to see what Mo had said.

@attackoftherach_face tonight’s brain food.

The picture I’d flitted was below. That sweet, goofy half grin lingering around his lips was too adorable. So much so that it had made me feel sassy enough to flit:

@Mo_than_you_know I’m digging what they’re serving up at Burger Barn today. #idlikefrieswithTHAT

God, I am such an idiot.

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[junker-town]

How to be a bandwagon Falcons fan, from actual Falcons fans

Hold tight, there’s a lot to know.

Hello. You’re probably here because your team was one of the 30 unfortunate franchises that didn’t make the Super Bowl (been there before) or you just hate the Patriots so much that you need to take on the other franchise in this Super Bowl.

It just so happens that team is the Atlanta Falcons this season.

So here you are, trying to look like a legitimate Atlanta Falcons fan for whatever reason that may be. Fear not, by the time you finish reading this — no matter where you are from or what team you typically rep — you will come across as a real-ass Atlanta Falcons fan.

Players you need to know

Introducing the entire team would be way too long and unnecessary, so here’s some extremely basic info about the players you’ll hear from the most on Sunday.

There’s no better place to start than quarterback Matt Ryan, aka “Matty Ice.” There’s a vocal contingent of fans who have just about despised him up until this season, but he’s put it all together and gotten help from the rest of the offense. Now, Ryan appears to have built the strongest case to win the NFL MVP award.

His best target is Julio Jones. If you find yourself on Twitter during the game and Jones happens to make a big play, simply tweet “JULIOOOOOOOOOOOOO” and you’ll fit right in.

JULIOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

— Harry Lyles Jr. (@harrylylesjr) January 22, 2017

Fans have also adopted the same with Mohamed Sanu, by tweeting “SANUUUUUUUUUUU” give or take some o’s and u’s in each, of course.

In the backfield, Devonta Freeman and Tevin Coleman are responsible for making opposing defenses put their hands on their hips or knees in exhaustion, desperately trying to get every last breath of air that they can.

Also: DEVONTAAAAAAAAAAA!

Defensively, know Vic Beasley, the NFL’s regular season leader in sacks. And don’t forget the vet, Dwight Freeney, and young defensive backs Keanu Neal and Robert Alford.

This team also loves its ping pong, and SB Nation’s own Jeanna Thomas is your insider for all things there.

Matt Ryan just used his hand as a ping pong paddle. Good awareness, savvy veteran move

— Jeanna (@jeannathomas) December 2, 2016

He’s not a player, but you should also know about head coach Dan Quinn. The Falcons have gone through plenty of coaches in the past, but Quinn is a proven winner in the past with the Seahawks, and has brought that same feeling to Atlanta.

Know the Falcons’ struggle

The Falcons haven’t had a lot of nice things in the past. They have the third-worst winning percentage of all 32 NFL franchises in history, with an all-time record of 341-437-6. Only the Arizona Cardinals and Tampa Bay Buccaneers are worse. Within that losing record are plenty of single moments that had — and still have — fans shaking their heads in disbelief.

A “BRIEF” RUNDOWN:

Dave Hampton becoming the first 1,000-yard rusher in team history, then losing it on the next play

Losing Michael Vick after he went to prison for dogfighting

Watching Bobby Petrino leave — for Arkansas — with the quickness

Jim Mora said he'd take the University of Washington head coaching job over the Falcons job "even if they were in the playoffs”

Scoring 2 points in a playoff game against the Giants

Blowing a 17-point lead in the 2012 NFC Championship to the 49ers

Losing on a pick-2 to the Chiefs

Eugene Robinson getting arrested the night before Super Bowl XXXIII after trying to solicit a prostitute who was actually an undercover cop

The Tomahawk Chop (a Braves rallying cheer) broke out in a home game in 1991, which seemed cool... until they lost.

Trading away a young Brett Favre, even though he wasn’t all that great in Atlanta. It was still Brett Favre.

Wade Traynham whiffed on the opening kickoff in the team’s second game in 1966

The 15 years between those big playoff games vs. Dallas and Dan Reeves getting hired, the Falcons were 79-147-1, a .350 winning percentage

When Deion Sanders returned to the Georgia Dome after playing five seasons with the team and stared down the entire sideline while running back a pick-six

The “Gritz Blitz” defense. We invented a pressure and named it after FOOD

Picking Aundray Bruce No. 1 overall in 1988. He played 34 games for the Falcons.

The 2012 draft class

Noisegate (we don’t give a shit)

Jamal Anderson’s ACLs

Other items to note

#RISEUP. The Falcons’ mantra was adopted in 2010, and while it initially wasn’t received well when the Falcons weren’t exactly doing too much winning. Now, we’ve pretty much just accepted it for what it is at this point.

This “Rise Up” video is wonderfully soulful, and something that we can all agree is good:

Samuel L. Jackson doesn’t play games when the Falcons are on, either:

O MUTHAPHUKKYN K!! Finally, some Grown Man Football! Rise Da Fuck Up!!!!

— Samuel L. Jackson (@SamuelLJackson) September 20, 2015

The 1991 Back in Black Falcons, where the team went back to their black uniforms for their 25th anniversary.

The Falcons ran an option offense for three years, with the No. 1 rushing offense, and no one noticed. They said Mike Shanahan invented the option a decade later.

Until 1998, our greatest head coach was a crazy person who awarded himself trophies and gave tickets to invisible Elvis. (Hey, Jerry Glanville)

The Falcons' first owner, Rankin Smith, once got drunk and grounded his yacht, "Pocket Change,” on a reef in the Bahamas

They’ve had a handful of notable players in franchise history

Steve Bartkowski: Bartkowski, who played for 10 years with the Falcons, is the only quarterback in the team’s ring of honor.

William Andrews: Andrews was one of the best running backs in the NFL during his time with the Falcons from 1979-83. He suffered a knee injury that kept him out for two seasons, before coming back as a tight end in 1986 for one season.

Jeff Van Note: Van Note played center, and was a five-time Pro Bowler in Atlanta, where he spent his entire career from 1969-86.

Tommy Nobis: The first player ever drafted by the Falcons in 1966. He was also the first Falcons player to be voted to the Pro Bowl in his rookie season. He is Mr. Falcon.

Deion Sanders: Primetime! He spent the first five seasons of his career with the Falcons, while also playing for the Atlanta Braves. He even played in the 1992 World Series.

Jessie Tuggle: He’s one of the greatest players in franchise history. “The Hammer” was a fierce linebacker that was a fan favorite for over a decade.

Claude Humphrey: Humphrey was a first-round pick by the Falcons in 1968. Another early Falcons legend, he finished his career as the all-time sack leader in franchise history. He’s also a Pro Football Hall of Famer.

Others to know:

Terence Mathis, Bob Whitfield, Bob Christian, T.J. Duckett, Warrick Dunn, Ray Buchanan, Jamal Anderson, Chris Chandler, Keith Brooking, Tony Gonzalez, Alge Crumpler

Rivals of the Atlanta Falcons

1. Saints

2. Saints

3. Bobby Petrino’s team

4. Saints

5. Niners

6. Saints

7. Matty B Raps

8. Bobby Petrino

9. DeAngelo Hall

10. Joe Horn

11. Drew Brees

Musical interests can be used to weed out fakes

Listen, if you haven’t paid attention to anything before this, you need to be on top of this if you’re really trying to sell your “fandom.”

The city of Atlanta does not play when it comes to our music. In particular, the hip-hop scene is something that we hold near and dear to our hearts. I won’t list everything because we’d be here all day. Instead, here’s a brief (and incomplete) list.

Outkast: This is the perfect starting point for anybody trying to fake the funk. Outkast is one part of the Atlanta hip-hop scene that nobody can argue against. Andre 3000 and Big Boi combined for one of the greatest duos hip-hop has ever seen.

Jeezy: Jeezy probably doesn’t get as much love as he deserves. He’s got so many classics like Let’s Get It: Thug Motivation 101 and The Recession that we won’t list them all. But know Jeezy the Snowman.

Ludacris: Luda is a graduate of Georgia State (where tuition is handled by the dean of students office), and along with Jermaine Dupri, made arguably the Atlanta anthem: “Welcome to Atlanta” which should absolutely play inside any airplane that touches down at Hartsfield-Jackson. But that’s another conversation.

T.I.: He’s got a discography that’s almost as vast as his vocabulary. Also, Michael Vick was in the “Rubberband Man” video. Rise up.

Gucci Mane: You can’t say enough good things about Gucci. Just grab a glass of lemonade and kick back and listen to The State vs. Radric Davis.

Crime Mob: Just know and respect “Knuck if you Buck” and pretend like JuJu on that Beat never happened.

Shawty Lo: The unofficial mayor of Atlanta (R.I.P)

Future: Being proficient in his newer material will suffice. You won’t be on the bandwagon too long, but you should be listening to Future if you aren’t anyway.

Migos: They’re arguably the hottest on this list with their new album Culture that came out featuring “Bad and Boujee.” On their song “T-shirt” from Culture the beat is from Dem Franchize Boyz’s “White Tee” just slowed down. Freakin’ geniuses.

Rae Sremmurd: That mannequin challenge that flooded your timeline for a month? That was them. But they make more dope music than just “Black Beatles.” Their name is also “ear drummers” backwards.

Miscellaneous tidbits about Atlanta

The Varsity actually isn’t that great, and we leave it to tourists

We love Waffle House, and you better not slander it

There’s OTP (outside of the perimeter) Atlantans, and ITP (inside the Perimeter) Atlantans

Regardless, anybody in the suburbs 45 mins to an hour from downtown will tell you they’re from Atlanta

If Georgia didn’t have Atlanta, it would be Mississippi

Not all Atlantans drive trucks: some have Dodge Chargers, while others drive Tahoes

Sweet tea

Chick-fil-a is now as common as McDonald’s are everywhere else and we live by it

Almost everybody in and around Atlanta has an ATV, including former Braves great Chipper Jones, who used his to rescue Freddie Freeman during a rare snowstorm

That’s a fairly brief and sufficient rundown of what you’ll need if you’re trying to prove your “Falcons fandom” at your Patriots-fan cousin that you hate’s Super Bowl party or whatever the case may be.

Enjoy the ride.