#not to praise myself in public but that hand turned out great :0

[deadbutnostink]

Hello law

Edit: i mean HIII

#not to praise myself in public but that hand turned out great :0 #trafalgar d water law #trafalgar law fanart #one piece fanart #one piece law #one piece #my art

[heauxzenji]

I just came across you nsfw with Osamu and I really enjoyed it I was wondering if You could do one for Kita?

Hi love! This is for u 💕 and all the kita fuckers worldwide- myself included bc I’m in love with him now 🥺

NSFW Alphabet - Kita Shinsuke

Nsfw below da cut g

gn!reader focus in this hoe

A/n: ty @honey-makki for being my partner in degeneracy and my wife ilysm bc she can read when I can’t

𝕬 - 𝕬𝖋𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖈𝖆𝖗𝖊

Will feed you a full meal. His way of making sure you’re cared for is keeping you well fed. He will cuddle you and spoon feed you himself if he has to, as long as you eat every single bite. He has a routine for everything, aftercare is no exception. He runs you a bath, then, while you soak, he cooks. Will make sure to throw a hoodie in the dryer before heading to the kitchen so it'll be warm for you post shower. Then he feeds you and holds you, playing with your hair or your hands until you fall asleep.

𝕭 - 𝕭𝖔𝖉𝖞 𝕻𝖆𝖗𝖙

You already know what the fuck is going onnnn! Kita is honestly so well sculpted that it really doesn’t matter but let’s talk about his back/shoulders. He’s so mf broad and it's very sexc of him. He’s also very fond of when you cling onto and scratch it up…. delicious

He loves your hands. He loves to hold them, especially when he’s looking straight into your eyes as he drills the hell out of you- he’ll lift one up and kiss it bc ✨romance✨

𝕮 - 𝕮𝖚𝖒

Oh he’s going to fill you so full of cum that it pours out of your ears. He has a big breeding kink, and huge loads to match. But he’s also very healthy and takes good care of himself so his cum isn’t bad on your tongue on the off chance he hasn’t already cum inside you 600 times prior to finally doing so in your mouth. And he’s going to kiss you after- very sexc of him.

𝕯 - 𝕯𝖎𝖗𝖙𝖞 𝕾𝖊𝖈𝖗𝖊𝖙

Lost his virginity in a barn. Got a tick on his ass of all places. The barn isn’t the secret tho... the tick is.

𝕰 - 𝕰𝖝𝖕𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖓𝖈𝖊

When you got together- he was definitely a virgin. Had only gone as far as MAYBE second base. But you used that to your advantage, because you’ve essentially built him up and trained him to be PERFECT for you. You also helped him find out what he likes and what makes him feel good too. Sure there was a lil’ corruption involved, but in the end you’re both very happy with your sex life.

𝕱 - 𝕱𝖆𝖛𝖔𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖊 𝕻𝖔𝖘𝖎𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

Full on mf wrestling mating press. He’s going to have his cock so deep inside of you that if he even pushed a bit more his body is gonna go in too. Then he’ll just live there. He’s fine with that.

𝕲 - 𝕲𝖔𝖔𝖋𝖞

Unintentionally so. Every once in a while, you’ll both giggle or laugh because you have to reposition when you start to cramp up or you accidentally hit him in the face when tying to pull him closer or something. But he’s a firm believer in the whole “if you can’t laugh with the person you’re having sex with you shouldn’t have sex with them” addage, so he’s very grateful for those light moments.

𝕳 - 𝕳𝖆𝖎𝖗

It could definitely be neater. He isn’t abysmal, but he is hairy and could stand to trim a tiiiny bit more often. He’s just very low maintenance down there. As long as it’s clean he's good, which is both true and a decent place to start but pls tell him to get a little off the top of you know what I mean.

𝕴 - 𝕴𝖓𝖙𝖎𝖒𝖆𝖈y

He’s! So! Loving! He’s always going to go the extra mile to make you feel special. He likes to keep things on the softer side I’d say 8/10 times. He prefers to make love instead of just fucking it out- but if you get into an argument or he’s frustrated, he will happily go hard… but still with candles and a massage. Also I said it already but he’s gonna hold your hands while he demolishes you- interlaced fingers and all that cute shit even tho you’re getting railed.

𝕵 - 𝕵𝖆𝖈𝖐 𝕺𝖋𝖋

His grandma is one of those old ladies that’s like “don’t do that you’ll go blind,” so poor baby was a lil pent up before he got older. Now, he still doesn't do it often, but he does it once a month or so as part of his routine. He uses coconut oil because he likes the smell and that it melts easily.

𝕶 - 𝕶𝖎𝖓𝖐

Breeding, listen it’s just embedded in country boys to fuck and fill. He is no exception.

Spanking, moreso as a way to direct you. Moving too much? slap to stay still. Changing positions? Slap to get you moving. Just wants to see you jiggle? Yeah that too. Motivational slaps also come into play when he wants you to know you’re doing a good job.

Auralism, He LOVES to hear you. The sound of your breath, your moans, the way you chant his name when you’re close… he eats that shit up. It feeds his ego and boosts his pride. He also makes a lot of noise himself, mostly really deep moans but there’s a sprinkling of praise throughout too.

𝕷 - 𝕷𝖔𝖈𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

He needs privacy. So he’s definitely one to want to keep it at home or at least somewhere secluded and away, where he knows only you and him are there and will know about it.

𝕸 - 𝕸𝖔𝖙𝖎𝖛𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

He doesn’t care how he does it, but his number one priority, is making sure that you cum. Kita is a giver. And he will make sure to give you whatever you want from him.

𝕹 - 𝕹𝖔!

He’s not into SUPER rough stuff. He’s not vanilla, but he is the kind of guy that sees sex as “lovemaking” so he’s not gonna punch you in the face or throw you around like a ragdoll. It’s just not his style. Of course if it's what you want, he will… but never expect him to ever bring it up or do so on his own.

𝕺 - 𝕺𝖗𝖆𝖑

Ok so- he's… teachable. I’m not gonna lie, he would start off as absolute trash. But the good thing about him is how adaptable he is, and how willing he is to learn. You’d have to have him work at it a lot but once he gets good he’s great. He’ll love the feeling of accomplishment he gets from you getting off with only his mouth- it does wonders for his pride.

𝕻 - 𝕻𝖆𝖈𝖊

It’s very even- until he starts to get close. When he’s close he’s going to speed up so much that you have to brace yourself against anything that’ll hold you. He is definitely a headboard grabber too.

𝕼 - 𝕼𝖚𝖎𝖈𝖐𝖎𝖊

He likes to take his time with you. For that reason, he isn’t a huge fan. You would really have to convince him that it's worth it. He doesn’t see the point in instant gratification, and thinks you should be patient. Good things come to those who wait and all that Kita stop being so stoic and rail me at the farmers market challenge

𝕽 - 𝕽𝖎𝖘𝖐

Lmfao you think this mans is really gonna go for a public or semi-public scene? Think again. Now, he’s into sex outdoors sure, but only in your fenced in, enclosed backyard. He’s not letting anyone see you point blank periodt, you’re for his eyes only.

𝕾 - 𝕾𝖙𝖆𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖆

Excellent self control. He can hold off on cumming for as long as you need him to. Usually he’ll tap out himself after you’ve gotten through at least 3 of your own highs- but his record is 6. Has a super long refractory period tho- so he does things this way to make sure you get everything you need in one go.

𝕿 - 𝕿𝖔𝖞

He actually likes using toys on you. He has a bunch of different plugs and vibes that he uses to suit the situation. He prefers to use a hitachi wand on you while he’s fucking you, but all the others he uses for foreplay- or after to keep you full to the brim of his cum.

𝖀 - 𝖀𝖓𝖋𝖆𝖎𝖗

You both tease each other absentmindedly. He doesn’t know why he gets so turned on by you scrubbing the floor on all fours (that’s why), but he does. He also doesn’t understand why you think its hot when he cuts firewood in winter or wipes his forehead with his shirt during the summer. He thinks he’s gross and sweaty- but you can only think of a million other ways to make him sweatier.

𝖁 - 𝖁𝖔𝖑𝖚𝖒𝖊

Listen we stan. He’s not quiet in bed by any means, but he’s not overly loud either. He’s the type who takes deep breaths and then on the exhale let’s out a moan from deep in his chest- you know the one. And he does that shit on purpose. Not really, but he does think of it as his way of letting you know that he feels as good as you feel. Will also 100% hit you with the “is that it baby? Is that the spot?” While you’re practically turning into jello underneath him bc he absolutely knows that’s the spot he just likes to make you say it.

𝖂 - 𝖂𝖎𝖑𝖉𝖈𝖆𝖗𝖉

Wants to recreate the sex scene from tthe notebook with you. He can’t explain why, he just has an unexplainable urge to suck your face off in the rain and then proceed to raw you after peeling all the damp clothes from your body. Please oblige him.

𝖃 - 𝖃-𝕽𝖆𝖞

He’s got the thickness. Not coke Can thickness but like… you remember the Alaskan bull worm from ep of SpongeBob? Well he’s the whole worm, not just the tongue. I’m going to hell for that reference but ya he has a nice dick. The perfect thickness and and I’ll say a pretty good 5.5-6 inches worth. It’s also very veiny on the underside which- yes I love that.

𝖄 - 𝖄𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌

Normal sex drive, since you tend to do it at least 2 times a week. He only seems to get a little needier when you CAN’T have sex regularly- ie, one of you is sick or you’re away from each other. When that happens, he’s a little edgier than usual, can snap sometimes but not often.

𝖅 - 𝖅𝖟𝖟

He’s the type to get a second wind after. He’ll only go to sleep after he makes sure all your aftercare needs are met, and even then, he’s only going to power-nap it for maybe 10mins. He’ll stay still and cuddle you while you sleep, but he’ll most likely watch tv or scroll through his phone while you enjoy his warmth. Every once in awhile he’ll give you a kiss while you stir.

Taglist Starseeds (check ur privacy settings if your url is in bold): @honey-makki @crushzone @yumekosgamblingroom @boujiesav @onesingleravioli @ushijimasfarmhat @trouvelle @nekoma-hoe @right-shoe-jpg @atsumusc0ck @nivky0-0 @animoozies @charmarsmith @tsumue @disasteren @hoe4abbacchio @sillykittt @ukaisbaby

#daisy’s red light district 🚨 #haikyuu smut #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu x reader #kita haikyuu #kita x reader #hq x reader #hq smut #hq headcanons #haikyuu hc #haikyuu hcs #hq headcanon #hq writing #hq scenario #haikyuu x y/n #hq x gn!reader

[kyberphilosopher]

Seven: Chapter One

Chapter One

Humans, I’ve observed, are often concerned with their appearance. It is because I was designed to integrate peacefully with them that I am where I am now.

          I trace the back of my right hand over my smooth, plastic skin, right against my cheek. My soft brown hair is pulled back into a loose bun at the nape of my neck, with bangs parted down the middle falling to my jaw. My skin is pale, my eyes a bright shade of green. If you look closely enough, you can see little yellow circles around my pupils. My eyebrows are brown and softly arched, and next to the one on the right is an led-light in the shape of a circle.

          When it turns green, it indicates that I am confirming something. Yellow means I am analyzing or active in some way. Red symbolizes danger or some kind of alertness. White, which I have on me now, means nothing. It shows that I am calm.

          My face is well put together, but not too much. When Androids were first released, reports were made that people felt uncomfortable because the Androids were too perfect. Too symmetrical. There were allegedly a string of men who became disloyal to their partners in favor of the metal beings. Androids were recalled and modified to look more human- more realistic and uneven. After that, Androids that were considered more symmetrical were sent to sex clubs.

          And so, my face is not perfect. My face is adequate, a more regular sight. I know I must be based off some human in the world, as the human mind is incapable of thinking of an entirely new face. If I ever met them, I wonder if it would feel like meeting my creator or identical twin.

          I straighten out my jacket, given to me by the company that designed me: Icarus. Icarus is actually from Japan, the first country that actually successfully created functioning Androids. The United States used it’s political ties to the country to coerce them into sharing the secret to creating such intelligent machines. Soon enough, an Android plant was created in Minneapolis. The plant made maids that become so popular, other states began constructing plants as well. Then the sex clubs came. Then secretaries. Then every state had at least four factories.

          I make sure I look professional enough to make a good impression on what will be my coworkers. I’ve been assigned to partner someone named Detective Everhart. From what I’ve researched on him, he is 54 years old, and very accomplished. When working with Androids in the past, there has been a record of Everhart being courteous to them. It’s a rarity, as far as I’ve observed.

          With one final look of myself in the mirror, I step away and turn to the door. A human walks in right then, a female with glasses and red hair pinned back by the name of Ellie Grint. She looks me up and down before her eyes land on my led. Then she scoffs as if I’ve disgusted her and chooses a stall. Ellie even slams the door so I am sure of her disapproval.  

          I turn the door handle to the police lobby. Rain hits the great glass windows sharply, matched with gray skies. I politely scoot myself past people in rows of chairs to get a better look of the outside. I can see the Space Needle from here, and I begin to analyze the weather.

          Weather: 100% chance of rain. 0% chance of snow. 30% chance of sun. 44% chance of winds.

     Temperature: 61 degrees Fahrenheit.  16.1111 degrees Celsius.

     The longer I stare at the rain outside and listen to it’s pitter patter, the more I feel my shoulders soften in my jacket. I guess I like this weather. It makes me feel especially warm and dry for being inside.

          After 41 seconds, I turn away and face the front desk. Long and made of metal and wood, three uniformed officers sit at computers, sipping coffee, attending to citizens. I position myself patiently behind a couple I identify as Carl Stacy and Mary Higgins. There arms wrapped tight around each other, they finish speaking to the Officer and move along to the right. I watch their backs, curious about why so many couples are so insistent on the constant touching. I know humans have warm skin, especially when alive, but why do they consider it so intimate to hold each other? If I were to be held, it would lead to problems with my work, as I wouldn’t be able to properly move.

          I step forward to the desk. The Officer- Blaise Shovelman, is concentrated on his computer. With his head down, I can’t get a more intensive read on his face, but I can analyze his hair enough to see lots of dandruff.

          I wait patiently, my hands clasped behind my back again. It feels natural to do, and I’ve seen humans do it before. Officer Shovelman can feel eyes on him- perhaps eyes that aren’t human, and raises his head to meet me. His lips are parted slightly in confusion, orbs locked onto my led.

          “Hello,” I greet calmly. “I’m looking for Detective Lucas Everhart.” Officer Shovelman stares at me blankly. “I have authorization,” I say.

          “Ah… Detective Everhart is unavailable at the moment.”

          “Then I would like to speak with Captain Armitage Ericson.”

          Officer Shovelman is still stunned. I can see his heartrate has increased. Have I done something to upset him? If so, I may need to report to Adelicia about this incident. “Oh… yes- yes of course,” he stutters. His fingers type something into the keyboard choppily. Beside him, the two other officers have stopped their activities to also stare at me.

          I bring my right hand up slowly as a kind of soft wave to acknowledge them. The blonde’s name is Quinn Blackwell. The other one with the slim eyes and black hair is Tom Ho-Kim.

          “Ah, Captain Ericson has an appointment with an Android at eleven thirty.”

          “Yes,” I nod. “That would be me.”

          “Oh…” Officer Shovelman points to the right, where a glass sliding door awaits. “Just that way.”

          “Thank you,” I say. I turn to the right, pretending not to know about six eyes all trained on me in disbelief.

          Past the glass door, the floor turns to grey and blue tiles. Glass separates the desks, and almost ever divider has some photos or information taped to it. To the immediate left of me, up a quick flight of stairs is a room of glass. This is supposed to be Captain Ericson’s office. It must be frustrating and strange to have people be able to see you work. Though, I suppose the rows of detectives desks must create the same feeling.

          “Excuse me,” I say to someone walking by. “I’m looking for Detective Everhart’s Desk.”

          The man (Joseph Blake) sneers at me and bumps my shoulder has he continues on. I still myself before stumbling too much, calculating his weight must be close to 200 pounds for him to push me so hard with such little effort.

          I regain my step, straighten my jacket again and brush off my button-up shirt underneath. I continue onward, deciding against walking into the bullpin. Instead, I turn up the stairs and knock softly on the Captain’s glass door. “Come in,” I see him say, focused on writing something down on his desk.

          I pull the door open and step inside, quick to analyze the room.

Name: Armitage Ericson

Date of Birth: April 11th, 1974- Age 67

Height: 6’0

Weight: 285 lbs

Race: African-American

Birthplace: Seattle, Washington

Occupation: Commanding Officer, Police Captain at Seattle Police Department

Family: Kayden Ericson, Husband (Age 59), Aaron Ericson, Son (Age 12), Sarah Ericson, Daughter (Age 9)

Finding Related Articles… Articles Found. Searching ‘Ericson, Armitage’…

          “Hello,” I say. I detect a sharp increase in Captain Ericson’s heartrate and he jumps to look at me. “My name is Aleksandra. I’m the Android sent by Iapetus. Serial Number 742 943 189-7. I believe you were contacted by Mrs. Adelicia?”

          “Jesus,” he mutters. I detect traces off coffee against his thick black mustache. “I thought it was a joke.”

          I cock my head slowly, thinking of all the possible things to say. “I assure you, Mrs. Adelicia has very little sense of humor.”

          “Yes,” Captain Ericson says slowly. “Yes, that’s true. Take a seat miss…”

          “Aleksandra,” I repeat politely. I make my way to a chair in front of his glass desk, sitting up straight and formally as my program suggests.

          “Is that… a biblical name?” Captain Ericson asks dryly, his hands moving slightly.

          “Yes,” I nod. “It means ‘one who saves the warriors’.”

          “Of course,” Captain Ericson swallows. “Well, you were assigned to work with Detective Everhart, weren’t you?”

          “Yes. I am looking forward to working with him.”

          “See, that’s going to be difficult,” the captain sighs, looking down at his fumbling fingers. “Lucas was pronounced dead this morning. There was a shootout with Androids yesterday.”

          I know my led is turning yellow as I absorb the information. Accessing the public records of the nearest hospital, I search through hundreds of reports before finding the one I’m searching for. Yes, Detective Everhart died at 6:14 am, due to internal bleeding during surgery to remove bullets. He left behind a second wife, no children.

          “I see,” I say, not really knowing what else to respond with. My led turns green, then goes back to white.

          Captain Ericson continues to fiddle with his thumbs, leaning back in his chair as a way to show authority. I’m unsure why he feels the need to do that. Androids are strictly forbidden from having any jobs of power. I am not here to undermine him. In fact, all the articles I just read about him tell me that he’s done many things deserving of respect. He’s won a medal of valor for his work with a drug task force from the year 2035, and been praised in the local papers for commanding respect among his fellow officers.

          “How about you join in on our meeting?” Captain Ericson offers. “All our officers and detectives should be here by then.”

          My led goes yellow as I determine the probability of that. “Yes,” I settle upon. “That should work.” I stand up, shaking the Captain’s hand. “Thank you, sir.”

          “Ah… yes. Dismissed.”

          I nod and turn on my heel, leaving his office and walking down the steps. From the corner of the room, I can see three people glaring at me and snickering. One is a uniformed officer- Mindy Cho. The other are Detectives Clarence Frost and Michael Corlecio. I knew that many humans were uncomfortable in the presence of Androids, but I guess I still wasn’t expecting all this really. The sneers, the glares, the pushes. Still, one of my core purposes is to accommodate humans. My best option is to continue to be polite to them. It’s not as if I was programmed to exactly care how the humans see me anyway, so long as it doesn’t interfere with my main mission.

          I look away from the group, ignoring them. My eyes meet the door to the precincts bathroom, down a hallway beside some plants. I put my foot forward and start over there, messing with my cuffs on my jacket. Once I enter the bathroom, I note a collection of stains on the floor and pick a stall in the middle to sit in.

          Androids don’t need to use the bathroom. We don’t need to eat. The only thing we need to drink is Binary Blood- a silver, thick liquid that acts as blood for Androids. It’s essentially melted metal, working to reconstruct parts we may be missing and solidify itself. When that is not needed, it works to pump throughout what is basically our veins. That is one of the many things that differs Androids from humans- we do not bleed the same color. One could even technically argue that Androids do not truly bleed.

          With the highly unsanitary toilet seat down, I sit on it. Then I close my eyes. When I open them, I am back in the white room where I first began.

          “You really must learn how to do this correctly,” says a low voice. I turn around, meeting Adelicia’s stern face. Today, her blond hair is pulled backwards into a very tight and professional bun. Her normal fitted pearl necklace sits along her neck, matched with a pale yellow pantsuit and skirt.

          “Yes,” I say. “I will keep that in mind.” My hands clasp behind my back yet again, a pastime of mine, it seems. “Detective Everhart is no longer alive,” I tell her. “He passed away of gunshot wounds early this morning.”

          “Yes,” Adelicia says gravelly. “With one of the Exceptions. What is to happen with you now?”

          “Captain Ericson suggested I stay here for today’s meeting. I expect I will be reassigned to a new partner.”

          I wonder about who it could be. One of the snickering ones from the corner? How would I possibly be able to complete my mission with them constantly getting in my way? It would not look good for me to ask for a different partner then, because I would appear unreasonable and catty to the humans. I can see their faces twisting into one of disapproval now.

          Adelicia’s eyes narrow at me, her thin lips pulled into a stern frown. Almost like she’s disgusted. “Report back to me when you’ve received your new instructions.”

          Before I can see, “yes, Adelicia”, I’m back in the bathroom stall. This isn’t the first time she’s kicked me out of her program. I don’t know how I feel about it, exactly. It makes an unsettling whir happen in my abdominal biocomponents.

          I run a diagnosis. All systems appear operational. With something equivalent to a sigh, I push myself up off the seat and out of the stall, brushing past a woman who stares at me in shock.

          “I didn’t know Androids had to use the bathroom…” she squeaks, her eyes wide.

          I cock my head to the side. “I wasn’t using the bathroom.” Then I move past her, leaving the woman silent and stunned for some unknown reason.

#androids #detroit become human #detroit: become human #android #dbh #dbh fanfiction #fanfiction #story #technology

[jbaeteng]

Boa  in the latest issue of Kicker 31 may 2019

"I was already gone in my head. When you get a clear promise and an adequate fee is paid then suddenly it's rejected, something breaks down in you" 

"My first half of the season was not good. Then I was able to turn myself upside down and play well, but I was benched anyway. The justifications given to me by the coach left me with the question: Why am I the one who had to be left out?"

 "I will attack again in the new season. At Bayern? I clearly imagine that I can continue at Bayern. I'm not going to run away, situations change quickly"

" I told Jupp Heynckes: I won ten titles with Bayern, I know the processes inside out, I needed a new impulse. I like being here, I love Munich, it was a great time, but I know when I have to go and that's what you would have to grant a player after so many years here"

"I know what I can do. When I have a club and a coach that gives me confidence, I know how to play"

"I'm a footballer, if you don't play a role, it hurts. I respect my teammates but I cannot pretend. I can't laugh around and pretend that I'm happy. And I know that when it mattered in the past years, I was always there in big games"

The season 2018/19 at Bayern is now over for him, but basically four weeks already: On May 4, against Hannover, Jerome Boateng was allowed to play for the last time. The remaining three games were followed by the central defender on the bench. "Of course I can not say that this season is good for me. I've lost a lot this year, my place in the national team and at Bayern, "says Boateng. "It was a negative year for both sides, for the club and for me." It's an unvarnished honest record.

This season began under obstructive circumstances. He said "in the summer of 2018, not in vain internally, that I absolutely wanted to leave" and got the assurance that he would be released from his contract until 2021, "if the right club comes and the money is right". These two conditions saw Boateng satisfied when Paris Saint-Germain wanted to sign him. But then the FCB officials refused. Three days before the transfer in late August 2018, Boateng learned "that they suddenly said no and I was not allowed to leave."

So he sought direct contact with the leadership - CEO Karl-Heinz Rummenigge, sports director Hasan Salihamidzic and coach Niko Kovac sat at the table - and said: "Please, let me go! I have to go. I need a new challenge. "The position of the club sounded that way, Boateng says:" They said the coach really wants to hold you; for him you are number one in defense. "Rummenigge then repeated several times that he could not release Boateng under these circumstances. Boateng thanked "for the appreciation", but made clear: "I want to go anyway. Absolutely. "The answer:" No. Even if It's hard for you, you have to accept it so."

Boateng had already basically felt" that the club was no longer to me ". Because Rummenigge had put the 2014 World Champion in the showcase just before the 2018 World Cup with the words: "If a club comes and Jerome announces that he wants to change to this club, we will deal with it." Paris had now offered a transfer, the including bonuses would have added to 40 million euros. But the no remained.

"That was hard to work with," says Boateng today. "I was already gone with my head. If you get such a safe pledge and an adequate sum is paid, but suddenly it's called no, something collapses in you. So, without further ado, that did not leave me without a trace. "However, this abrupt change in the situation did not affect his general attitude to football and his job.

The relationship with the new coach Kovac, he found initially "all right, just like the other players". And he admits: "Sure, we had a bad phase in the fall, and I played badly," for example, when 3: 3 against Dusseldorf. So it came in those weeks to exchange with Kovac, "my first round was not good". During Christmas holidays, the defender telephoned the head coach and assured him that he had finally come to terms with the refusal to change clubs, "that I was fully focused and after the winter break totally wanted to fight for my place in the team". The Trainer's Response: In the winter training camp in Qatar, "everyone starts at zero".

There, Boateng notes, "I trained at top level". In the public training sessions, he was usually part of the A-Elf, Mats Hummels to the B-group. So Boateng "decided that I would start against Hoffenheim". But for the second half of the season, he was only substituted in the 90th minute for Javi Martinez. "I could not understand, I was angry, especially because of the statements of the coach, I would have trained super, he liked that, aggressive, I was headed, et cetera."

On top of that Kovac had announced shortly before the kick-off in Hoffenheim, Süle was Munich's center-back number 1, Boateng and Hummels would have to "match" behind her place. Boateng asked the coach about the background for this statement and learned: "He said that was a mistake."

Boateng locates the beginnings of this development in the second half already in the middle of December 2018, when he played against Nuremberg (kicker -Note 2.5) in Hannover suddenly had to experience 90 minutes as a substitute. "Since then, I felt I had no chance, because I could stand on my head and play well, I was still out in certain games," he says in a quiet tone. "It was very frustrating for me because I had worked hard." He supplemented the daily work with the team with an individual program: yoga, fitness, physio "to get me fit".

The appearance or accusation that he was too distracted from his profession as a professional footballer, he states objectively-determined: "All these side things, the glasses, the magazine, the party after the match against Dortmund - I do not have to do anything . "Boateng asks and says," What do I have to do for it? It is always put in such a way that I would have to travel through the world for it and would have any appointments or obligations for six hours. "Other players would also have photo shoots for PR purposes," why is this never discussed? "Jewelry, glasses, earrings "I've been wearing it since I'm with Bayern". So he became Triple Winner 2013 and World Champion 2014.

For his eyewear collection, he says, "every three or four months I spend an hour coming to develop the designs", on location in Munich. "Then there is a shoot for two hours, also in Munich, also every three or four months." For his magazine BOA he does "nothing, except a shoot over an hour or two, also in Munich, all three, four months ".

But did this boa party have to be the PR for the second edition of his lifestyle magazine in the Munich Nobel Club P1, right after the possibly decisive hit against Dortmund? And how inappropriate would this party have been in a defeat? "Then I would have turned up there from 11 pm to midnight because of the sponsors and then home," replies Boateng. "We have clearly communicated that to Bayern." In addition, the FCB makers knew what sponsors expected from a partner. "I had to be there for them." And no concerns were expressed to him by the club. "We could have discussed it and made a statement to the outside." Six, eight weeks before the BVB game, this party was planned.

Before Thomas Muller headed for P 1 that night, he said on social media, "Boa, do not let it get you down! Are a horny guy. "Hummels, Ribery, Lewandowski, Gnabry, Alaba, Tolisso came, allegedly twelve players. "If we had lost, nobody would have come," says Boateng. "But none of us thought that we would lose." The Bayern won 5-0, Boateng sat 90 minutes on the bench.

And are not there - another reproach - his constant short trips to Berlin? "Only if we had no English week and were free, I flew to Berlin," countered Boateng. "But it was always said: Jerome is in Berlin." For other players who also travel by air on days off, there was this topic not: David Alaba jettete known to often to Vienna, Javi Martinez to Spain, Franck Ribery to Paris. Boateng may not understand this different rating, "but that just fits in".

Where so far his deep tone remained the same, Boateng is now emotional and says louder: "I'm a footballer. I'm still burning. I'm hot. But I was slowed down because I was unfairly not used for me, as I deserved it. "Okay, he admits, football is never fair," but I feel like I'm upside down everything was set in stone since December ".

The second half-series began for him with a three-week delay, at home against Schalke, on 9 February. Before the match in Leverkusen, the third in the second half, in early February, Boateng had a one-hour conversation with coach Kovac. Again, he received praise for his good training performance - but sat outside again. But in the upcoming English weeks, the coach has promised him, "you're immediately on hand, if one does not bring his performance, because you deserve it, you train great". Four days later, in the cup at Hertha BSC, he still remained 120 minutes substitute. In the next league match against Schalke Boateng defended next to Hummels "neat", as he judges - the kicker rating 3.5 supports his self-assessment. On the next matchday in Augsburg he had to watch again for 90 minutes and today asks: "But on what grounds?" Two weeks later Kovac had told him that he would not change a victorious team. "Why am I the one who has to go out?"

Boateng takes a deep breath. "It was hard for me to accept that I was not used regularly and was only allowed to play when the coach just needed me." He leads the cup semi-final in Bremen, where he was stable (kicker note 3 ). "After that, I had to get out again", in Nuremberg, "and without explanation." Boateng emphasizes: "I'm the last person who can't take criticism when someone is better".

In the Hinserie, "I also told the coach, I had no problem with him taking me out." But in the second half he sees no reason for his supporting role "because of the training and the games". Kovac even indirectly confirmed it recently when he said to him, "You have not played that much, even though you may be the best defender." Boateng replied to Kovac, "How am I supposed to take that statement? You do not set me up, why ever. "The two are talking.

The 76-time international, early in March by coach Joachim Loew from the DFB selection retired, but would like to blame for the unsuccessful season 2018/19 not alone looking at others. He gives himself self-critical. "I let myself be pulled down too much by the whole situation," he says. But does not a World Champion and Footballer of the Year for which he was elected in 2016 have to defend himself against such attacks? "Sure, I know what I can do," he says, "but at the touch of a button I can not say, now I'm laughing again, it's all peace, joy, pancakes again. I am not. "He reclaims for himself original human feelings and reactions. "It was about my personal happiness, I just had to go."

In 2018, he repeated what he had experienced at the age of 18. At that time he felt that he had to get out of Berlin, "from this comfort zone, where everyone knocked on my shoulders." So it was again: "I needed a new challenge. I know how I am. Here I fall asleep, I told Jupp Heynckes, when he asked me a year ago what I would like to do. "The former Bayern coach understood, but wanted to know the reason. "I've won ten titles with Bayern, know the processes inside out," Boateng told him. "I needed a new impulse." To avoid giving the wrong impression, Boateng hastily emphasizes: "I like being here, I love it Munich. They were great times. But I know when to go. And that would have to have been granted to a player after so many successful years. "

How does it go from here? President Uli Hoeness described the professional with the jersey number 17 last Sunday as a "foreign body". Boateng names as counterargument Niklas Süle. To his immediate opponent in the defense he has "a super wire because the boy is absolutely okay". In the cabin, Boateng addresses things directly to everyone, including the superiors. "Because I want to be successful." In the summer preparation 2018, in the training camp, pleaded the two captains Manuel Neuer and Müller internally that Boateng should necessarily remain. And yet: Was his behavior at the celebrations and the cup win not unquestionable?

At the master celebration in the stadium he kicked off with his two daughters, afterwards he went to a friend's wedding, not the team party. "I'm a footballer," he says. And explains his point of view: "If you do not play a role, it hurts you. I respectfully respect my fellow players. But I can not pretend, do not laugh and pretend I'm so happy. And I know: If it was important in the last few years, I was always there in the big games. "An exception he leads immediately and without asking: The 2: 5-clap in the Cup final against Dortmund in May 2012," the is years ago ", kicker rating: 5.5. "Otherwise, I was always one of the players in the crucial games to stand out." In the 2014 World Cup final kicker made him the player of the game, grade 1.

And yet again the question: Does a team athlete not attend a club or team event? "It was not the last season game, there was still the double celebration on Marienplatz," says Boateng. "And when one of my friends marries, I go to the wedding. It had nothing to do with my mood. Even if I had played, I would be at the wedding. "He serves examples of his identification with Bayern. For the club, he had shortened his vacation, came to New York, did PR shoots for Audi and opened with Rummenigge the stock market. "I was the driving force, I did everything for Bayern."

In contrast, he felt at his shoulder injury in 2016/17 by the club not supported at all. The usual during an operation accompanying an FCB doctor was missing, afterwards there were no visits club official in the hospital or asking for his health. And he was never informed about his removal from the players' council this season: Suddenly Lewandowski was third captain, even Thiago got in a friendly match the captain's bandage - before Boateng.

A first crack suffered on 1 July 2011 started, long perfect relationship FCB-Boateng in November 2016. The Munich lost in Rostov in the Champions League with 2: 3, Boateng was danced in the first goal, before the second he committed a foul , Penalty, 1: 2-residue (49th). He was injured ten minutes later. Boateng would have to come back more "back to earth", so on the ground, said Rummenigge back then in the icy-cold Russia night. Boateng considers such public criticism as a breach of trust, especially because he had a few days earlier in a personal conversation with the CEO pointed to some athletic maladies and Rummenigge had criticized him in private, not in the approach. Boateng did not feel protected by the board boss. The sequel followed before the now ended season and immediately afterwards with Hoeness' public recommendation to change. Of course, Boateng is still ready to do that.

But the future employer must fit. "I have very clear sporting expectations and goals," says Boateng emphatically. He rejects a transfer to China or the USA with a decided no. He said it was about the personal esteem in a new club, he emphasizes: "I would like to prove once again my class after the disappointments of this season and show that I belong to the three top center-backs in the world. I know what I can do. And if I have a club and a coach that gives me confidence, I know how I play. "Despite the recent development, however, Boateng can" clearly imagine that it can continue at Bayern ". He asks: "Why not?" And answers: "I'm a footballer, Bayern is a big club." He also had to take into account that his children go to school in Munich. "I will not run away here for sure. Situations change quickly. "

Once again he clarifies:" I do not want to end my career, on the contrary. "He wanted" one hundred percent success as a footballer. Just after having been slowed down so much this season, I want to show that I am still fully occupied. I'm going to attack fully in the next season. "

After this season 2018/19, which at least spared him major physical injuries, he feels ready for new exploits. "Jerome has not finished yet and still has huge potential for the next three years," says Jupp Heynckes. In the triple year 2012/13, "he shot into the world class," said Boateng's former coach in Munich, "at the 2014 World Cup, he was the best center-back in the world." Boateng is "an easy to run player who needs trust and understanding "Heynckes says," working with him was a pleasure ". Peter Hermann, who saw Boateng as an assistant coach in Munich in daily operations, adds: "Nobody plays out from the back like Jerome does. He has to be fit, then he can play for a few more years at top level - if he wants it. "Boateng wants. He says. Determined.

On vacation, he will - as usually in the past years - go through a private preparation. For this he sets his own fitness trainer and physiotherapist on his own account. "For the five-week vacation, I have a well-planned plan," he says. The exercises are designed specifically for him. For the last 14 days of this individual work "full throttle" is programmed. Boateng wants to start "prepaired" in preparation for 2019/20.

#jerome boateng #kovac is such a loser #sorry some sentences may sound stupid because it's translated with google translator #:)

[ayearofpike]

Master of Murder

Pocket Books, 1992 198 pages, 14 chapters + epilogue ISBN 0-671-69059-0 LOC: CPB Box no. 1081 vol. 14 OCLC: 26075926 Released July 28, 1992 (per B&N)

Everybody’s reading the thrilling Silver Lake series by Mack Slate. With the last book due out in a few months, fans are excited to finally find out who killed Ann McGaffer. Only problem is, Slate — that is to say, twelfth-grade nobody Marvin Summer, hiding behind a pen name  — has no idea himself, and hasn’t even started writing the book. It’s only as he works to close the distance between himself and his crush, Shelly Quade, that the grand finale starts to make itself clear to him, in ways that unexpectedly and gruesomely parallel his own life.

This might not be my favorite Pike book, but it has certainly had the most influence on me. I’ve always called myself a writer, since a fifth-grade teacher recognized my ability to craft a narrative and pointed out that somebody had to make books and I should think about it. In high school, it was my defining trait, and it wasn’t until I’d almost graduated from college that I realized it didn’t make me special. Everybody has a story, as Marvin finds out, and some of them are even better at telling it in an engaging way. It’s sad, in a way, that I identified with this book so much (like, I literally carried it in my backpack for my entire senior year) and it still took me so long to get that theme.

What I did get was an intense sense of connection with Marvin. Shy loner? Check. Separated parents who didn’t get along? Check. Younger sibling who wanted to be like me? Check. An English teacher hung up on prescriptive strictures of language who quietly cared about her students, and a language teacher who was more interested in building a classroom community than sticking to a scheduled curriculum? Check and double-check. Writing ability revered by peers? Check, even if my work rarely made it past my immediate circle of friends. Subconscious inclusion of issues I was going through in my work, to the point where it got me in trouble with the girl I liked? Well, not directly observable, but I mean, it’s hard to not come off creepy if you’re writing a love story to a girl instead of, like, actually TALKING to her.

I also really enjoyed the way Pike works with language in this book, and honestly, I still do. Modern YA gets a lot more respect, and deservingly so, but a lot of it is written in a direct, almost sparse way. It makes sense, considering how many contemporary authors write in the first person, and most people don’t actually think in metaphors and syllogisms and even (to some degree) descriptive adjectives. Master of Murder kind of goes hog-wild on this, kind of a leap from representational art to impressionist art. And I buy it. As Marvin is our POV character, it makes sense that as a writer he’d put some more florid prose into his observations and understandings of the world. Plus, this style kind of helps to establish him as an unreliable narrator, as we slowly learn how much he actually doesn’t know and, in fact, how much maybe he’s repressed.

That said, this story does have some holes. Let’s jump into the summary and I’ll get there.

We start out with Marvin in his English class, watching Shelly read his most recent book and thinking about their relationship. They’d gone out a handful of times a year before, but it stopped after the death of Harry Paster, another flame of Shelly’s who’d jumped off a cliff into the nearby lake. Marvin figures enough time has passed that he can ask her out again, but first he has to read the short story he’s dashed off for their creative writing assignment. Man, remember when creative writing was an actual COMPONENT of high school English class? And the only reason I got to do it was that I took a creative-writing-focused senior English course. I mean, I get it — public school English is about preparing you to pass the SAT or ACT, not teaching you how to reach and grab an audience. They save that for us, in post-secondary ed, by which time the interest in writing has already been drilled out of kids by making them do repetitive five-paragraph essays. Most of my students still don’t want to write, but I at least try to give them some room in the assignment structure to flex their creative muscles.

But anyway, “The Becoming of Seymour the Frog” is a legitimately good short-short story. It gives us a sense of Marvin’s author voice straight away, which is of course the same as the narrative, and it legitimizes how much Pike uses what modern writers would call excessive description. The teacher grades it right away (what? I give everything two reads, and this teacher is just going to LISTEN one time?) and tells Marvin he might be a writer someday if he learns to control himself. We both (the reader and Marvin, that is) know he’s already there, and Marvin completely discredits this advice. He writes best by giving up control and going into a state of flow, one where he can’t stop writing but also doesn’t necessarily feel that what’s going onto the page is coming from inside his own head. This is important later.

After class, he catches up to Shelly, but their talking is interrupted by the arrival of her current squeeze, Triad Tyler. Triad is a big dumb football jock who wants to buy Marvin’s motorcycle, which Marvin would never dream of selling. Before he can get around to asking her out, she ducks into the bathroom, and Triad complains that it seems like she’s always trying to escape. This is probably important later too. So already in the first 15 pages, Pike has nicely set up the major characters and their interplay with each other.

We jump to speech class, and I call BS. Like, we learn later that Marvin only has four classes as a senior. Why is one of them speech? My high school only required a half-day of seniors, sure, but our classes were English, math, world history, and economics. It turns out this class would be better called “communication skills,” which was required in ninth grade, but I’d still buy that more than speech. The teacher basically has them engage in conversational debate, and this day the topic they choose is Mack Slate’s Silver Lake series. It’s a good framework for sharing Marvin’s story, and showing the corner he’s painted himself into: Ann McGaffer’s body was found naked and tied up with barbed wire floating in Silver Lake, and five books on we’re no closer to figuring out who did it or why. The description grosses me out a iittle bit, but on the heels of the last two super-tropey thrillers, I’m going to choose to believe that Pike is poking fun at the intentional shock attempts of the genre.

After class, Marvin finally successfully asks Shelly out for that night, then goes to his PO box to pick up his fan mail. His little sister is already there, and once again we’re subjected to the jaw-droppingly beautiful small child. It was gross when it was fifteen-year-old Jennifer Wagner, but Ann Summer is ELEVEN and Marvin’s SISTER. Pike, isn’t it possible to describe a female one cares about without making it all about her looks? He does it with Marvin’s mom in a few pages too, when they get home. We get it — girls we care about are hot. Only problem is Marvin’s mom is an alcoholic who almost never leaves the house except to buy more booze. Dad is an alcoholic, too, but he’s not at home and his child support payments are erratic. Good thing there’s a best-selling author living in the house! But Ann’s the only one who knows, and it kills her to not be able to sing her brother’s praises and brag about how great he is.

They go upstairs to Marvin’s room to read his mail, and one of the last letters makes him pause. It has a local postmark, and the letter inside simply says “I KNOW WHO YOU ARE.” It starts to pull the book into more general thriller territory, but before we can think too much about it, the phone rings and it’s Marvin’s editor, asking about Silver Lake Book Six, which is four months overdue. I have some serious questions about the timeline of this series, but we’ll get there in a little bit. Marvin soothes her concerns, then goes to take a walk around the lake, trying to figure out where to start his book but not actually ready to start it before he picks up Shelly.

The date is successful, by most measures. They have dinner, go to a movie, and then stop on a bridge crossing a raging river because Shelly wants to look at the water. They sit down on the edge, Marvin landing on an old and weathered piece of rope, and watch the waters pound away down to their final destination — the lake. Then Shelly invites Marvin back to her house to sit in the hot tub, where they get naked and make out, but she suddenly gets sad and pulls away. I give Marvin props for being respectful and apologetic here rather than trying to force her to continue. Woke in 1992! But as he’s getting ready to leave, he learns the reason she’s sad: Shelly is thinking about Harry, which he expected, but he didn’t expect to learn that she thinks he was murdered. And she wants Marvin’s help to figure it out and clear Harry’s name.

There’s no basis for this belief, but Marvin figures he might as well listen and do some research, seeing as he can’t figure out his own murder mystery. He checks his PO box first, and finds another ominous letter that’s been mailed there directly rather than to his publishing house, so maybe somebody really does know him. He calls his agent (whose name is one letter away from a real literary rep, maybe even Pike’s) to ask about it. This insert, plus the editor whose name was close to the woman in charge of YA at Simon and Schuster at the time, made so many of us so sure that this was as close to autobiographical as Pike had ever gotten. I seriously chased leads from this book to try to figure out more about him, back before he started answering questions on Facebook and there was so much less mystery about it.

So then Marvin goes back over to Shelly’s house to talk about Harry. She has the police report and autopsy report, and Marvin looks them over, along with articles about Harry’s death from newspapers at the time. What it boils down to is Friday night a year before, a night when Marvin had taken Shelly out for her birthday, Harry and Triad were drinking beer together. Triad said that he dropped Harry off at home, and that was the last time anybody saw him until a fisherman found his body in the lake on Monday morning. Marvin starts to question the narrative that Harry jumped, because there are several physical symptoms that indicate maybe he was held captive. He talks to the fisherman and to Harry’s mom, and takes a look at the jacket Harry was wearing, and makes note of definite rope burn marks around the back and under the armpits. So Harry was tied up somewhere for a long time  — but where? And how?

Marvin goes home to rest and digest this info, and has a dream about his book series that shows Ann McGaffer hanging from a bridge by a rope around her waist. He’s startled awake by Ann, who says that their dad is breaking things downstairs. Marvin gets down there just in time to watch his dad shove a lamp into the TV, and the resultant cuts to Ann and his mom from the exploding picture tube send Marvin into a fit of rage. He starts to beat the shit out of his own father, and only stops when Ann tells him to, even though the dude is unconscious. Like, holy shit, buried violent tendencies that will make you like your father? So Marvin gets the hell out of the house to give himself some space.

He ends up back at his PO box, even though he knows there couldn’t have been another delivery, but there sure is a letter in it. He follows this back to Shelly’s house, where he finds her making out in the hot tub with Triad. Marvin overhears her say that she was using him to get him to do something, and Triad tells her not to go out with Marvin anymore, to which she readily agrees. So now Marvin is scared, he is heartbroken, and he has unlocked some deep-seated rage that will allow him to strike back. He ends up on the bridge, where he starts to figure out what must have happened a year ago. There’s a rope, there’s a giant oil stain on the bridge right behind it, and there’s a dead boy with rope burns on his jacket who was maybe hanging from it rather than being tied up. Marvin figures that Harry was jealous of his relationship with Shelly and decided to stage a little motorcycle accident, but accidentally slipped off the bridge and ended up hanging himself, slowly suffocating to death until the rope broke and he washed down to the lake.

And it occurs to Marvin that this would be a perfect way to get back at Triad.

After a misadventure with two girls in a bookstore who accuse him of trying to pick them up by pretending to be Mack Slate, Marvin buys a new car and a bunch of motorcycle-dropping gear at Sears, then takes the bike to Triad’s house to sell it to him. Marvin says that he left the helmet in a motel in the town across the river, and that the manager said he was going to throw it out if Triad didn’t pick it up tonight. Then he hikes to the car, which he’s had delivered around the block, and goes to stake out the bridge. While he’s waiting, he starts to think about the parallels between his own series and how Harry died. And we learn that the first Silver Lake book only came out after Harry’s death — in fact, that Marvin didn’t start writing it until then.

So this is my timing issue. Master of Murder does have some gaping inconsistencies, I’m not gonna lie. There’s the variable height of the bridge over the river: it’s 150 feet when Marvin and Shelly stop on their date, and maybe 60 when they have the final showdown two nights later. Also, later apparently Shelly knows details of a book that Marvin hasn’t even written yet? But this, in my mind, is the biggest problem. We’re supposed to believe that in a year, five books have come out about Ann McGaffer and her loves and hates. We’re also supposed to believe that he’s four months late with book six, and that it takes at least three months for the publisher to turn a story around and get it into bookstores. We also have the information that the fastest Marvin’s ever written a novel is eighteen days. So by that logic, there’s no way he could have finished and submitted Silver Lake Book One before mid-December. So five books have somehow appeared between probably March and let’s say November (they say the fifth one just came out) — five books in seven months — but they’re going to wait another three months to release the sixth? Also, how does an author, even an experienced and acclaimed one, sell a six-book series to his publisher without knowing the beats and especially the ending? There are too many inconsistencies and timeline impossibilities for me to buy it. If I didn’t know better, I’d say Pike was a new author writing publication fanfiction.

But anyway, Triad races across to the other town. Marvin is too far away to see him, but he recognizes the sound of his motorcycle. He grabs his rope, his knife, his can of oil, and his binoculars, and hustles the probably mile to the bridge to set up his death trap. But as the motorcycle is coming back, he gets his first good look — and sees Shelly on the back. So he drops the rope, but Triad is already braking, stops short of it, and shoves Marvin off the bridge.

So now it’s Marvin hanging from his armpits by a rope under the bridge above a raging river that leads to the lake in his town, and did I mention he’s wearing Harry’s jacket? Shelly’s more annoyed than angry — it turns out she’s expected this from Marvin the whole time. In fact, she DOES know who Mack Slate is, and she’s already read about this scheme in the Silver Lake books. But Marvin doesn’t even remember writing it. She wants to turn Marvin in to the police. But Triad wants to untie the rope and drop him into the river.

And suddenly Marvin knows what actually happened. Harry wasn’t alone on the bridge a year ago. Triad was with him, and shoved Harry just as he shoved Marvin. Shelly doesn’t believe it until Triad knocks her out for trying to stop him killing Marvin too. Marvin manages to get hold of the underside of the bridge just as Triad unties the rope, then he kicks Triad in the face when he leans over to look and see whether Marvin has actually fallen. The semi-conscious wedged body of the football jock gives Marvin a ladder to climb back up onto the bridge, and he stomps out Triad’s bad knee when the dude wakes up and threatens to go after him again. Only the knife falls out of his pocket as he does so, and Shelly picks that moment to come to, and it’s a simple matter for Triad to grab both her and the knife and threaten her death if Marvin doesn’t help him get away.

What’s in it for Marvin, though? The guy who tried to kill him is holding the girl who tried to frame him for a death the guy is responsible for. He gets on his bike, where Triad has courteously left the keys in the ignition, and drives away. I don’t like that he’s left a vulnerable girl at the almost-complete mercy (he can’t stand up) of a confirmed killer. What I like least is that he doesn’t even call the police. But then again, he’s abandoned his new car in the woods near the scene and surely doesn’t want to be implicated if somebody dies. So Marvin drives to a seaside town, rents a house and a computer, and writes an entire book in five days, only stopping to eat and sleep. Of course, within a few pages of the end he has to stop, because he doesn’t actually know how Ann’s best friend, left in the clutches of the boyfriend’s jealous best friend, is going to escape, or whether in fact she does.

Marvin calls his editor and tells her the story is done and he’ll express-overnight it to her. He also asks her to set up a reading from it at his high school that afternoon. More BS? Like, how are they going to allow an author to read from a book that the editor hasn’t even SEEN, let alone put through proofs and galleys? Marvin has to physically print and ship the manuscript — remember, this is 1992 and most people don’t have email yet (and when it would become widespread in a few years, it still had a hyphen). But she does it, and Marvin goes home first to find out that Dad’s in jail and Mom hasn’t touched a drop since. More good news! He takes Ann with him to school, where the entire student body is in stunned disbelief about the identity of Mack Slate, and finally gets some personal acknowledgement from his peers and teachers.

But Shelly doesn’t show up. Neither does Triad. The kids he does ask say neither has been in school all week. Marvin can’t dwell on this, because he has a major book series to finish, but it’s precisely this reason that he hasn’t made it all the way to the end yet. He knows that he needs someone else’s story to finish his own. So he goes back to the lake, and makes his way to the top of the cliff that everyone thought Harry jumped from. As he’s thinking, Shelly shows up with his knife. She tells Marvin that she suspected him of being Mack Slate back when they were dating, and he would tell her stories that had the same voice as Slate’s published work. So she sneaked into Marvin’s room one day and snooped in his computer for proof.

When the Silver Lake books started coming out, she saw the parallels immediately, and figured the only way Marvin could have known so much about how Harry died is if he had killed him. She got Triad, Harry’s best friend, to help her set up a situation where Marvin would implicate himself, not realizing that Triad had always wanted Shelly and been jealous of both of the other guys and didn’t care who hurt if it meant nobody else could have Shelly. That includes Shelly herself: if Triad couldn’t be with her, nobody else would. He didn’t tell Harry that Marvin and Shelly were out together that night, and when Harry realized Shelly was on the back of the motorcycle he did like Marvin and dropped the rope. So Triad pushed him.

Triad obviously has told Shelly all of this, and Marvin figures the only way he would have is if Shelly somehow overpowered him. It’s an interesting twist that she told Triad about using Marvin to get him to figure out Harry’s death and Triad never realized she might use him for the same purpose. (I feel like Shelly has more strength than even the story gives her credit for, seeing as Pike describes all her agency as coming at the hands of her feminine wiles.) Marvin suspects that here, the spot where it all began, is the spot where it has all ended as well, and that the soft soil where he’s sitting is Triad’s final resting place. Shelly doesn’t say as much, but elicits Marvin’s silence before throwing the knife into the lake. But of course Marvin still has a book to finish, and Shelly’s OK with that as she’s apparently the only one who’s figured out the parallels anyway. The book closes with them in Marvin’s car, Shelly driving to Portland so they can get the manuscript on a flight to New York while Marvin writes the last few pages longhand.

I have to admit it: I still really like Master of Murder. Obviously I’m not in high school anymore, so I don’t relate to Marvin the way I used to, but I do connect to his being trapped in his own story and having to listen for others. The book has a lot of holes and inconsistencies in general that either I didn’t notice when I was a teenager or I glossed over in the excitement of having a character I could relate to so well. In particular, the YA publishing description is not without issues, and the ways the industry has changed after the Internet and Columbine and social networks and Trayvon Martin and #MeToo don’t jibe with the already-shoddy impression of how it works that Pike puts on display. The story is consigned to be a relic of its time. But for those of us who were there, who were trying to make our stories heard the way Marvin wanted to, it carries some warm nostalgia. Maybe I only like it so much now because I liked it then, but I’m OK with that.

[carriejonesbooks]

So, I have to go to Book Expo America at the end of this week. If you are not some official publishing person you’re probably like, “What is Book Expo America?” It’s this big huge massive (insert another large-sounding adjective here) industry thing where there are:

1. Publishers 2. Authors 3. Book sellers 4. Publicists

And almost all of them are well dressed.

There is the issue! I am from Maine…. Okay, I live in Northern Maine. How northern? When people from Glamour Magazine came up here to do a photo shoot with Megan Kelley Hall and myself (for our Dear Bully anthology) they made us DRESS IN LL BEAN CLOTHES!!!!!

Yes, even Glamour knew that it is not glamorous up here.

Sigh.

Megan still looked good. Me? The hair stylist/make-up person kept complaining about my hair, and how my nose turned red in the cold, and I felt so badly for her because she was used to super models or My Little Pony (really – she was the stylist for My Little Pony) and then she got stuck with me.

Anyway, I was thinking about BEA and authors who are always beautiful and poised and funny and lovely. And I have decided I need to somehow magically channel these authors at BEA so I don’t look like a hick from Maine or like, you know, I’ve never actually interacted with other actual human beings before.

But pretty much everything in my wardrobe has paint stains on it, holes, or long white dog fur.

She always blames me. There are lint rollers out there for a reason. Geesh.

I basically come across as either an eccentric old-money professor or homeless.

You may think I have no reason to be panicky, but I’m going to repost what happened to me the last time I went to BEA, and maybe you’ll understand.

ONCE AGAIN FOR THOSE WHO MISSED IT BEFORE – HERE IS THE HORRIBLE INCIDENT OF ME AT BEA LAST TIME (Taken from the original blog post of horror): So, yep, I had my skirt fall off (YES! PAST MY KNEES!) when I got out of the taxi today!  Oh, Britney…oh Lindsey…oh Paris… I so feel your pain. Fortunately, there were no paparrazzi, just my cab driver (His eyes got really big) and a father with his eight-year-old son (WHO WILL NEVER BE THE SAME!). They were standing right there, waiting for the taxi. The little boy gasped! GASPED!!!! I have marred him for life.

I then realized I should not be let out of Maine.

So I started yanking my skirt up with my hand while trying to: a. Pay taxi driver guy b. not die c. juggle three massive bags full of ARCS d. not worry about that little boy’s therapy bills.

It was then that I realized that hotel security cameras probably totally caught the skirt fall action.

I thanked God (and pretty much every potential deity in existence) that I am not famous and therefore not worthy enough to have the skirt DISASTER image blasted all over the internet.

I then hid in the hotel room, vowing never to come out again.

So, yeah. I don’t want that to happen again.

If you would like to see me in unsuitable clothes, check out the Lerner Booth on Friday, June 1 from 11:30 to noon.  I’ll be there with a spy who was also a catcher. 🙂

  WRITING NEWS

Yep, it’s the part of the blog where I talk about my books and projects because I am a writer for a living, which means I need people to review and buy my books or at least spread the word about them.

I’m super good at public image and marketing for nonprofits but I have a much harder time with marketing myself.

So, please buy one of my books. 🙂 The links about them are all up there in the header on top of the page on my website carriejonesbooks.blog .  There are young adult series, middle grade fantasy series, stand-alones for young adults and even picture book biographies.

Time Stoppers

Flying

Moe Berg

Write! Submit! Support! Begins Again in July!

“It’s not easy to create a thriving writing career in the children’s industry, but what if you didn’t have to do it alone? Write. Submit. Support is a six-month program designed by author and Writing Barn Founder Bethany Hegedus. Classes are led by top creatives in the children’s industry field; they’ll give you the tips and tools you need to take both your manuscripts and your developing career to the next level. Think of it as an MFA in craft with a certificate in discovering (or recovering) your writer joy! – Writing Barn “

And more about the class I specifically teach? It is right here.

Here is what current students are saying:

Carrie is all strengths. Seriously. She’s compassionate, funny, zesty, zany, insightful, honest, nurturing, sharp, and…Wow, that’s a lot of adjectives. But really, I couldn’t praise Carrie enough as a mentor. I’ve long respected her writing, but being talented at something doesn’t automatically mean you will be a great mentor. Carrie just happens to be one of those rare cases of extreme talent and excellent coaching. Aside from the specific feedback she offers, she also writes letters in response to the process letter and analyses. These letters have been so impactful for me as I writer that I plan to print them and hang them up. Creepy? Maybe. But they are so inspiring. And that, in the most long-winded way possible, is how I would summarize Carrie as a mentor—inspiring.

Dogs Are Smarter Than People

And finally, the podcast DOGS ARE SMARTER THAN PEOPLE is still chugging along. Thanks to all of you who keep listening to our weirdness. We’re sorry we laugh so much… sort of.

Look, Mom! It’s a podcast.

Book Expo America is Coming and I have Nothing to Wear So, I have to go to Book Expo America at the end of this week. If you are not some official publishing person you’re probably like, “What is Book Expo America?” It’s this big huge massive (insert another large-sounding adjective here) industry thing where there are:

#amwriting #bea #bookexpoamerica #carriejones #maine #maineauthors #maineclothes #moeberg #writerinsecurity #writertravel #writinglife

[learnislam-li]

Class 5 - Sahaabiyaat; Stories of them taking part in Battles

In today’s class, we will read about some Glorious stories of Sahaabiyaat taking part in Battles for the path Allah.

SUMAYYAH BINT KHUBBAT                                                                The First Martyr in Islam

She is Sumayyah bint Khubbat, the freed slave of Abi Hudhaifah bin Al-Mughirah. She is the mother of Ammar bin Yasir and her husband was Yasir bin Amr. She accepted Islam in Makkah early. She was among the most severely tortured for the sake of Allah to make her recant her deen (religion) but she refused. Abu Jahl stabbed her in her private parts and she died. She was an old frail woman so she became the first martyr in Islam. Allah have mercy on her.

Mujahid said: "The first martyr in Islam in the beginning of Islam was Umm Ammar, Sumayyah. Abu ]ahl stabbed her with a spear in her 'heart'."

Ammar bin Yasir R.A. saw his mother being killed while he had no power whatsoever to aid her. Even though his father had died under the strain of torture yet for Ammar, the fate of his mother was heart-bruising just like any other Arab and like any other Muslim. However, lofty principle places a burden on its subscribers to live for it and die in its cause. Here, just picture the depth of the trial:

A man would hear a word detracting from his honor and he would rush to defend himself coupled with the fact that public opinion is also there in his aid. Even if there is no public opinion in his favor, still he can take recourse to the law to fight for him. 

As for Ammar, he saw with his eyes a perfidious hand stabbing her (his mother) and he heard her moans with his ears but he had no power whatsoever to save her. Moreover, the Messenger of Allah also had no power other than supplication. Trials at that time were very great for everyone to bear. But Ammar prevailed over his supplication. He came out of it with his belief even though he had to bid his father and mother farewell. In the sustenance of lies belief, lies solace and consolation.

  UMM UMARA                                                                                  ��     Her Hand was Amputated in Battle

 She was the noble struggler (in the path of Allah) from the Ansar, belonging to the Khazraj tribe, Nusaybah bint Ka'b. May Allah be pleased with her.

Her brother, 'Abdullah bin Ka'b Al-Muzani was among the participants in the Battle of Badr and her brother 'Abdur Rahman was among those who were given to weeping a lot.

Umm Umara witnessed the night of Aqabah and she witnessed the Battle of Uhud, Hudaybiyyah, the Battles of Hunayn and Al-Yamamah. She participated in other wars and she recorded feats and her hand was amputated while she was out in the cause of Allah.

Dr. Mahmud Ammarah said: "This is how the Muslim women used to be - for a long time - a time when the future was for the Muslims. The woman was mentally healthy, physically fit and highly intelligent. Then they were succeeded thereafter by a generation in which the woman daubed her face with powder distorting her look and her intestine destroyed by imported drugs which weaken the bones. The result: withered body and nothing remained of intelligence ... except remnants of strained nerves ... unable to exercise patience at the slightest disturbance. They are poor trainers (of children) and poor spousal companions.

 The Legend 

Al-Waqidi said: "Allah be pleased with her. She witnessed the Battle of Uhud along with her husband, Ghazzayah bin' Amr and her two sons. She went out with an attacking contingent (of the Muslim army) offering water, armed with her water skin. She also fought and obtained good fortune. She was stabbed in twelve places (on her body)."

The Prophet, Allah's peace and blessing be upon him, used to say: "The standing of Nusaybah bint Ka'b today (i.e. the Day of Uhud) is better than the standing of such and such person." On that day, she fought ferociously. She tied her cloth around the waist until she was injured thirteen times.

Damrah bin Sa'eed Al-Mazani used to narrate about her grandmother who had witnessed Uhud. She said: "I was looking at Ibn Qumay'ah when he struck her shoulder and it was a great wound and she nursed it for a whole year. Thereafter, the call of the announcer of Allah's Messenger (S.A.W.) went to the knights of the clan of Asad. She put on her cloth and whatever she was able to get of gauze bandage. Allah be pleased with her and have mercy on her.

Umm Umara said: "If you had seen me, when Allah's Messenger became vulnerable, i.e. on the day of Uhud; no one remained (by him) except a small band numbering less than ten. Myself, my son and my husband were at his front defending him.

The people were running past him defeated. The Prophet saw me without a shield and then he saw a man with a shield on his heels, so he said: "Give your shield to the one who is fighting." The man dropped the shield and I took it and I kept protecting Allah's Messenger with it. The calvary of the Quraish dealt us a series of blows. Were they infantrymen like us, we would have routed them if Allah wished.

"Then a man on horseback approached and he struck me and I defended with my shield and he could not do anything further so he turned back. I struck the hamstring of his horse and he fell on his back. The Prophet kept shouting: '0 son of Umm Umara, your mother, your mother!"' She continued: "I pounced on him until I succeeded in killing him.

Her son, 'Abdullah bin Zayd said: "I sustained a wound on that day and blood kept flowing uncontrollably. The Prophet said: 'Tie your wound.' Then my mother came to me with a bandage tied around her loins. She tied my wound while the Prophet stood watching. Then she said: 'Get up my son and strike the enemies!' and he said: 'Who can endure what you can endure, Umm Umara'?"

Umm Umara narrated: "Then the man who had struck my son approached and the Messenger of Allah said: 'That is the one who struck your son.' I accosted him and struck his shin and he fell down on his knees. I saw the Messenger of Allah smiling so broadly that I could see his molars. Allah's Messenger said: 'You have retaliated, Umm Umara.' Then we advanced on him until we finished him off with weapons. The Prophet (S.A.W.) said: 'Praise be to Allah Who has made you prevail.

"The Prophet (S.A.W.) saw the wound of Um Umara and he said to her son, 'Your mother! Your mother! Bandage her wound! 0 Allah make them my companions in Paradise.' So I said (after hearing Allah's Messenger's words): 'I do not care whatever happens to me in this world."'

After the death of the Prophet(S.A.W.), Umm Umara continued her journeys in battles.

Muhanunad bin Yahya bin Hibban said: "Umm Umara sustained twelve wounds in the Battle of Uhud and her hand was amputated at Yamamah. At the same battle, she received eleven injuries other than her hand. She arrived in Madinah bearing the wounds. Abu Bakr thought he should go to inquire after her. He was the Khalifah at the time."

Her son Habib bin Zayd was the one Musailimah the Liar dismembered.

After the voyage in a blessed offering, now the struggling body wants to pass on to its home "Which the Most Beneficent (Allah) has promised to His slaves in the unseen: Verily! His Promise must come to pass." She answered the call of her Lord and her soul passed away: "In a seat of truth (i.e. Paradise), near the Omnipotent King (Allah, the All-Blessed, the Most High, the Owner of Majesty and Honor)."

Congratulations to you Umm Umara. May Allah have mercy on your weaknesses and shortcomings.

 UMM HARAM BINT MILHAN                                                                The Martyr Woman of the Ansar

She was the sister of Umm Sulaim and the maternal aunt of Anas bin Malik and wife of Ubadah bin As-Samit. Anas nanated: "Allah's Messenger visited us and there was no one besides myself, my mother and my maternal aunt, Umm Haram. So he said: 'Stand up so that I may lead you in prayer.' So he led us in prayer outside the time of (the regular) salat."

The Martyr

She was martyred, Allah be pleased with her, during the khliafah (reign) of 'Uthman in the Battle of Qabrasa. The commander of that army was Mu'awiyah bin Abi Sufyan. That was in the year 27 hijrah.

Anas bin Malik, Allah be pleased with him, reported: "Umm Haram bint Milhan narrated to me that Allah's Messenger took a nap in her house one day and he woke up smiling. So I said: '0 Messenger of Allah what makes you smile?' And he said: 'Some people among my Ummah were shown to me (in my dream) sailing on this sea like kings on thrones.' I said to him: '0 Messenger of Allah, beseech Allah to make me one of them.' And he said: 'You are one of them.'

"Then he took a nap again and woke up smiling. Again I said: '0 Messenger of Allah, what makes you smile?' and he said: 'Some people from my Ummah were shown to me sailing on this sea like kings on thrones.' I said: '0 Messenger of Allah, beseech Allah to make me one of them.' and he said: 'You are among the first (group)." 

Ubadah bin As-Samit married her and he went on a military expedition with her on the high sea. On her return, a mule was brought for her to mount and it threw her and she broke her neck and died as a result of it. May Allah be pleased with her.

 ASMA BINT YAZID                                                                                    She Killed Nine Romans in the Battle of Yarmukh

 She was Asma bint Yazid bin As-Sakana, mother of Amir and Salamah. She was from the Ansar and Al-Ash'haliyyah. She was the daughter of Mu'adh bin Jabal's aunt. She was one of the women who gave bay'a (allegiance) and a struggler in the path of Allah.

Asma bint Yazid obtained a testimony to her eloquence from the noble Companions. She was known for her beautiful talk, her power of elucidation and mesmerizing speech. Her mark was even reinforced by the fact that she had drank what she could from the Qur'an and Hadith in that regard until she was nicknamed "the Speaker of the Women." What gave her this nickname is her distinctive standing among the women of the Ansar.

 Delegate of the Women

Asma, may Allah be pleased with her, came to Allah's Messenger while he was in the midst of his Companions and she said: "May my mother and father be your ransom, 0 Messenger of Allah. I am a messenger for those women who are behind me from among the Muslims. I speak their words and we share the same opinion: Allah has sent you to both men and women alike. We believe in you and follow you. We womenfolk are kept in the house and secluded as the pillars of the home. We satisfy the desire of men and bear their children. The men are preferred for Jumu'ah and congregational prayers, participating in funerals and striving in battles. When they march out for battle we take care of their wealth for them and we train their children. Shouldn't we also share with them in the reward, 0 Messenger of Allah?"

The Messenger of Allah turned to his Companions and said: "Have you ever listened to a woman's speech more beautiful in questioning regarding her religion than this one?" "Never, 0 Messenger of Allah. We never thought that a woman could attain something like this," they replied. Then the Prophet (S.A.W.) turned to her and said: "Go back, 0 Asma, and inform the women behind you that good companionship (demonstrated by) anyone of you to her spouse and her quest for his pleasure and her fulfilment of his wish equals all that you have mentioned regarding the men."

Asma left while she was extolling the Oneness and Greatness of Allah as a tiding for what the Messenger of Allah told her.

 A Lesson in Obedience to the Husband

Asma bint Yazid said: "The Prophet met me while I was by the side of my mates so he greeted us and said: 'Be careful of ungratefulness to benefactors.' Out of all the women, I was the only one who had the courage to ask him. So I said: '0 Messenger of Allah what is ungratefulness to benefactors?' He said: 'Perhaps one of you would stay in the house of her parents for a long time, then Allah grants her a husband and blesses her with children from him then she gets angry (one day) and becomes ungrateful and she says (to her husband): I have never received any good from you whatsoever."'

 Asma and Struggles in the Path of Allah

She, Allah be pleased with her, participated in the Battle of Yarmuk and earned great feats. Ibn Kathir said: "The Muslim women fought on this day and they killed a great multitude of the Roman soldiers. They would hit those who were fleeing from amongst the Muslims. They would say: 'Where are you going? You want to abandon us to the infidels?' When they reproached them they had no choice but to fight."

About Asma and her part in this fighting, Ibn Hajar· says in Al-Isiibah (4/229): "Asma bint Yazid bin Sakana witnessed the battle of Yarmuk and on that day, she single-handedly killed nine Roman soldiers with the pole of her tent."

Imam Adh-Dhahabi said: "She killed, with the post of her shelter, nine Romans, on the day of Yarmuk."

She lived until the reign of Yazid bin Mu'awiyah and then she was taken into Allah's mercy. With that ends the shining page of her story. However, her work remains a guiding light for those who seek guidance.

[weconqueratdawn]

#fannibalselfrec event - Hannibal season one

Thanks to @hannibalficwriters for organising this, I’m looking forward to checking out everyone’s recs :)

I nearly decided not to take part - I have problems with self-reccing, especially when I think something has received ‘enough’ attention. It just seems greedy. But that’s a) stupid and b) I have a story I want to tell about the writing of this fic.

I have literally only one (1) which qualifies. Others have strayed too far into AU-land to count as taking place in S1. That fic is *drumroll*:

Cathexis

Hannibal/Will ~ 57k words ~ Explicit

A Season 1 BDSM AU

Summary: What if Hannibal's sadistic tendencies only find expression through consensual BDSM relationships? Set in a Season 1 AU where Will is allowed to continue teaching, relatively undisturbed by Jack, and seeks Hannibal's professional help of his own accord.

The story I want to tell is how I went from not even thinking about writing, to writing something which juuussst about qualifies as a short novel (if we go by word count) in the same bound. (And how you can too! No, just kidding - I hate those kinds of terrible advice blogs. But stick with me, there’s things in this story which might be relevant for anyone reading.)

Before this fic, I wasn’t writing. Anything. Not only that, but I wasn’t even a frustrated writer who wanted to write but couldn’t. The idea of writing had never occurred to me. Sure, I was a frustrated creative person - I have been all my life, even since I was a very small child. Just before this fic, I had been studying fine art with a load of other adult learners and trying to engage with the contemporary arts scene in a fairly amateurish but genuine way. I would have described myself as an artist. My creative friends are sculptors and printmakers and painters. We had just finished putting on a group exhibition - just to see if we could - and were thinking vaguely of other things we might do together in the future.

Enter fandom. I had come to Hannibal post-cancellation and watched all three seasons breathlessly, then wandered around Tumblr reading meta and finding great fic and thinking WHY OH GOD WHY ARE THEY LIKE THIS in a way which is familiar to anyone who has just Found Hannigram.

My gf is a fandom-savvy individual and we usually talk about our obsessions, whether they're shared or not. We came up with something which we found funny and which you most likely won’t - after steeping ourselves in Hannibal's god-complex we thought it would be hilarious to reduce him down to a common-or-garden bedroom sadist. He would make bad bondage puns and have a dungeon instead of a murder basement. Lololol etc. I even went so far as to refer to this as Fifty Shades of Graham, which if you know me, demonstrates how un-serious I was about it.

I DID NOT INTEND TO WRITE THIS is what I am trying to say. It was a joke, a bad one, and a private one. I never intended to be a writer* at all. 

Because apparently, unbeknown to me, that’s what I’ve been all this time. Secretly, under the surface somewhere. And what I think is this: I just wasn’t ready to be a writer before. I wasn’t ready to discover this about myself. The things that I did before - all the visual art, all my academic studies and crap jobs - all have, in differing and subtle ways, all fed into this part of me which wasn’t ready to come out yet. 

And I also think that this is happening to all of us. It’s just as true for you as it is for me. We all have hidden pockets of potential, things even the most self-aware of us do not know about, or refuse to look too closely at. Those pockets might not lead directly to anything life changing, they may be paths to other, deeper and more difficult to find pockets. Or simply to activities and interests we find enjoyable, a way of doing something just for ourselves or of meeting people we need in our lives.

A wise person on the internet said “follow the rabbit-holes”. They all lead to the same place anyway, and the easiest path there is the one of least resistance. Follow that strange tug, dive in, see where it leads you without worrying about the destination. You might end up being very surprised.

*It took me maybe six months to start to feel I could use the hallowed word Writer when talking about myself, and now I can even tell complete strangers this without blushing and feeling like a fraud.

18 months later and I can't imagine not planning all my not-work time around writing - I think about it constantly. It nags at me when I’m prevented from doing it by other commitments. My weeks and weekends are based squarely around which project I'm working on and how much time I have until that deadline, self-imposed or not. I have so many projects lined up they are constantly being juggled and re-ordered so I can try to maximise my available writing time in the most effective way. I’m even looking beyond fandom and beginning work on an original novel. And it all started with this fic.

For the really curious, here is how Cathexis got written (under the cut):

I read even more fic (really amazing and intimidatingly good fic too) and even more meta and I thought more and more about Hannibal and Will’s complex dynamic. The BDSM AU became less of a joke and more of a place where that could be explored without getting too tangled up in the difficulties of Will’s relationship with Hannibal. I thought about it often. There was so much discussion and activity in the fandom that the idea of putting down your feelings in the form of a story didn’t seem so strange.

But still, it didn’t seem like that was the route for me. Until, one morning after Christmas, I woke up with dialogue in my head (those moments just before and after waking are so good for weird happenings like this). I didn’t move, didn’t do anything at all, before I wrote it down on my phone. It felt like a strange thing to do at the time - trespassing in a place I didn’t quite belong. It was a compulsion. I just knew I had to do it.

I had no idea if more would follow or if I even wanted more to follow. But more did. I wrote that down to, in the same place (which, by the way, was the note app *not* anything as official as a Google Doc - the very idea :0 !!) 

It took me maybe three-four weeks of this to brave the idea of doing something with the snatches of dialogue and scattered notes which had built up. They had become pieces of a puzzle which I needed to solve - until then, I knew I wouldn’t find any peace.

I had been talking with @wraithsonwingsposts​ about the show and had encouraged her to work on a fic idea she had been playing around with. She returned the favour and was so fantastic and supportive all the way through - and therefore, this is all her fault, as she already knows ;)

The rest of the story was the same for anyone undertaking a piece of writing - one word at a time, much time staring at a blinking cursor, a lot of editing. But overall, I think what got this written and completed was keeping my aims simple. The were 1) see it through to the end (i.e. solve the puzzle), and 2) try not to make a complete tit out of myself.

I know for certain I hit one of those goals.

**************************************

Bonus: for the very-very-very curious, here is the original and un-edited version of the I wrote that morning (a version of which appears in Chapter 8), and the first thing I wrote since school:

"What kinds of things do you say when you... afterwards?" "I thought you found it too difficult to hear?" "I want to know. I can catch the odd word, but the way you say it... I like the way you sound." Hannibal hesitated for a tiny moment. Will smiled and said, "I thought it was for my benefit only you don't say it in English." Hannibal sighed and conceded, "Perhaps it's easier, sometimes." He moved closer to Will, made it almost impossible for Will to escape from what Hannibal had to tell him, and to study his face as he spoke. "I call you my darling, my lovely Will, so precious to me. I tell you how beautiful I find you, how complete my desire is and how abandoned you make me. I tell you that you are mine and belong to me, that I shall never leave you, that you have made me yours. I praise you, for being so very good, for indulging me, and for indulging yourself also. I tell you that you deserve it, and more, and I tell you I love you." Will went very quiet, almost not breathing. He had known what to expect but to hear it stated so simply was almost too much. Hannibal continued to look steadily at him, waiting. Will turned over suddenly, so he no longer could watch Hannibal's face, and pressed himself back into his body. Hannibal moved to accommodate, folding him arms around him and holding him tight. He brought his legs up so his thighs pressed into the back of Will's, and his ankles tangled with Will's also. They lay there for a few moments without speaking, bodies perfectly aligned. Will felt safe again. "If you wish to explore these issues, I have a suggestion. There are things you could wear, even in public, which could serve to remind you of my possession. Something more concrete than a bruise or a bite mark." Will considered how it might feel to have such a reminder, one he could feel wherever he was. An image came to him of a collar made of plain but good quality leather. It could be concealed under his shirts, especially if he wore ties. It would be slim but solid, with one heavy buckle to fasten it. He could almost feel it's weight resting on the back of his neck, like Hannibal had placed his hand there. Will opened his mouth to speak and then realised Hannibal was holding and touching his hand gently. The gesture was so soft and specific that Will had to look, to watch Hannibal's hands. Realisation dawned on him. Hannibal was meditatively rubbing small circles up and down in between the second and third knuckles of his third finger on his left hand. Will turned over to catch Hannibal around the shoulders and demanded, "Did you just ask me to marry you?"

Cathexis on ao3

#fannibalselfrec #hannibalficwriters #hannigram #hannigram fic #hannibal #my fic #cathexis #wow that was a lot of words about me #:0 #writing stuff

[celticnoise]

CELTIC legend Tommy Gemmell made his Hoops debut exactly FIFTY-SEVEN YEARS ago when he was introduced at left-back for a First Division game against Aberdeen at Pittodrie.

He was 19 at the time and was promoted to the top side following a 4-0 defeat at Ibrox.

On this occasion, though, the players celebrated a landslide victory as they hammered the Dons 5-1 with Big John Hughes firing in a hat-trick.

It was the start of something good for Big TG and his team-mates.

To celebrate the landmark anniversary, CQN are publishing EXCLUSIVE edited extracts of a chapter from the autobiography Gemmell did with his friend and author Alex Gordon, entitled ‘All The Best’ in 2014.

Sadly, the Celtic great passed away on March 2 2017 leaving the Hoops supporters with a host of wonderful memories.

This might take some readers down memory lane.

******

WEE Jimmy Johnstone often told me that I had been decorated more often than the Queen’s living room. I never thought to ask Jinky exactly how he knew of the specific arrangements for the makeovers at Buck House, but I got the drift.

What the Wee Man didn’t know was that there was one honour I should have won on a weekly basis – the Best Actor’s award.

No doubt my former team-mates and fans alike will be surprised by this revelation, but it’s time to come clean. I was never quite as laidback as everyone thought I was. It was all an act. I wasn’t a bag of nerves before every game, but I can tell you the butterflies were there.

I was as much subject to normal human frailties as the next man. I just did my best to disguise it while sauntering around the dressing room looking as though I didn’t have a care in the world. But, deep inside, I felt the tension. The trick was not to show it. And once you have done it a couple of times as a cocky youngster coming into the first team to mix with the big boys, then you are stuck with it for the rest of your life. It becomes unshakeable and forms your personality.

Looking back, I realise I had more front than Brighton Pier. I was never really concerned about the image. That was never a priority from someone from a housing scheme in Craigneuk, Lanarkshire. But I realised I had lumbered myself with a part to play.

I read in the newspapers that I was flamboyant, cavalier, buccaneering, flashy, swashbuckling, exciting and dashing. I don’t think any other Celtic full-back in the history of the club had ever been described in such graphic, praiseworthy terms. Again, that is not being big-headed.

In the earlier days, they were defenders first and foremost. They were never encouraged to cross the halfway line. That was a massive no-no. However, that had always been my natural instinct, to get into enemy territory and do as much damage as possible. I knew I had a good shot in either foot, with my right being the stronger, and, with Jock Stein around, you were given every opportunity to get forward and attempt to create havoc.

WALLOP…Tommy Gemmell’s most famous goal as he thunders in the equaliser in the European Cup win over Inter Milan on May 25 1967 in Lisbon.

I scored my first league goal for the club on October 28 1964, but I didn’t do too much celebrating as we had just been humped 5-2 by Kilmarnock at Rugby Park. At least, I had put down my marker. It was quite awhile afterwards that Big Jock handed me the penalty-taking duties. Before me, the players on the spot were Dunky MacKay, Bobby Murdoch, Bertie Auld, Ian Young, Charlie Gallagher, Joe McBride and John Hughes.

So, I had to wait my turn before I was given the nod when we were awarded one in our European Cup first round second leg tie against Zurich in Switzerland on October 5 1966 en route to conquering Europe. I had scored in the first game in Glasgow, a 2-0 win, and I had netted again in Zurich. We were 2-0 up in that game – Stevie Chalmers got the other – and I was given the ball to complete a hat-trick over the two legs. I clubbed it into the net and that was me the No.1 choice.

I have to say I was never nervous before I took a penalty. Normally the adrenalin would be pumping because you don’t often get a spot-kick in the first five minutes or so unless, of course, it is an absolute stonewaller. So, I was mainly into my stride by the time we ever received an award. I felt sorry for the goalkeeper before I took a penalty. He had no idea where I was going to place it for one very good reason – I hadn’t a clue myself.

My secret of a good penalty-kick was simple; hammer it as hard as you can, get it on target and see what happens after that. I had a fairly good record, even if I do say so myself. I think I missed three out of thirty-seven attempts and I believe I hit the keeper on two of those occasions. They weren’t quick enough to get out of the way!

YOUNG BHOY…Tommy Gemmell in an early picture.

Being a Celtic player was simply wonderful. The public might never have believed it, but Celtic and Rangers players actually got on quite well with each other. Wee Willie Henderson was a particular friend of mine. Bertie Auld, Willie Wallace, myself and a couple of others used to go to Reid’s Bar on Hope Street in Glasgow after a game on a Saturday.

It was owned by Partick Thistle chairman and SFA President Tom Reid and a lot of footballers used to hang out there. They had an upstairs bar where you could get a bit of privacy. Normally we would be joined by the Rangers contingent of Wee Willie, Ronnie McKinnon, Davie Provan and Willie Johnston. It was all very affable, I must say.

Jock Stein abhorred alcohol, as we all know, so it may surprise a few that the Celtic players were allowed a drop of whisky before every game. Okay, it wasn’t enough to cater for a party. In fact, it was only a quarter bottle of whisky and it was kept out of sight in the shower room.

Big Jock never allowed anyone else into the dressing room apart from the players and staff, but on the off-chance someone did enter his exclusive sanctum, there would never be any booze on display. However, if the players fancied a nip before kick-off they could go and have a quick snifter with the boss’s blessing.

I’m not a whisky drinker, but I had a swig one day to test out its therapeutic qualities. That was a one-off. I never touched it again. A lot of the other players didn’t bother, either, but that bottle was almost always empty before we left to take the field. I’m not pointing any accusing fingers, you understand, but Ronnie Simpson seemed to make more visits to the shower room than anyone else. Read into that what you will.

Ronnie was a great character. Do you know the only two members of the Lisbon Lions squad who smoked were the goalkeepers, Ronnie and John Fallon? And, before them, the only other bloke I saw smoking at Celtic Park was Frank Haffey, another goalkeeper. Bertie Auld would often be photographed with a giant cigar after a trophy triumph, but I doubt if he ever smoked it. That cigar probably followed him throughout his career and was never lit!

JUST IN TIME…Tommy Gemmell could defend, too, as he proves with a block on a goalbound shot from a Falkirk player.

Jim Craig flummoxed Big Jock. Our manager could never understand why our right-back had a profession outside football. Jim, of course, was a dentist and combined both trades fairly well. How many dentists do you know who have a European Cup winner’s medal in their possession?

The man known to us as Cairney must be unique. Cairney? Back then, there was a Scottish actor called John Cairney who starred in a TV series called This Man Craig, so we simply switched names.

To be honest, I don’t think Cairney ever received the praise he deserved. I’m probably to blame to a certain extent. The supporters would see me bombing up and down the left flank and, if I was lucky, walloping in a goal or two. Scoring goals wasn’t Cairney’s forte, though. What he provided was remarkable athleticism on the right. He didn’t go on eye-catching mazy runs, but he certainly contributed to the cause.

Jim was the University-type. I’m sure he thought the rest of his team-mates were half-footballer half-imbecile. He probably believed an amoeba had more brain cells than the lot of us put together. I never tired of telling him he wasn’t the only one who possessed grey matter in the team. I had won the Dux medal at Wishaw High School Senior Secondary, after all.

Billy McNeill would give his team-mates dog’s abuse during a game if he thought it was merited. If you gave the ball away needlessly with a slack pass you could expect to get it in the ear from Big Billy. In fact, every individual in the Celtic team would give a colleague pelters if it was deserved.

That was the type of team we were. We all wanted to be winners and no-one was shy about firing out a verbal volley if we thought somebody was falling short of the required standard. It didn’t do us any harm, did it? We could spend an-hour-and-a-half shouting and bawling at each other, but it never carried on into the dressing room afterwards. Not once.

You hear all sort of stories about bust-ups among players in the privacy of their sanctuary away from prying eyes, but, no matter how heated it got during a game, that wasn’t the case with us. Sure, there could be a word or two, but that was all.

GOVAN GLEE…Tommy Gemmell celebrates a Celtic goal against Rangers at Ibrox along with team-mates Bobby Murdoch, Bobby Lennox and Bertie Auld.

Big Billy was Jock’s general on the park, but he realised he was surrounded by players with the same positive outlook. Billy got it in the neck every now and again, too. No-one was immune. We won as a team and we lost as a team. People can look at the surviving Lisbon Lions today and see us all getting on well with each other. They may think that is merely for the public’s consumption.

Believe me, that affection we have for each other is genuine and has lasted well over four decades. My wee pal Willie Wallace may now be living on the other side of the world in Queensland, Australia, but we still keep in touch. That wee bugger will telephone me in the dead of winter to tell me he is enjoying a barbeque in his back garden. Now that’s what I call a friend.

It was a minor source of irritation to some players that Big Billy was getting a tenner a week more than the rest of us. Jock’s secretary revealed this to me once and I took it up with the manager. At first, Jock, who was always very careful with Celtic’s cash, denied the claim.

I couldn’t drop the secretary in it, so I wouldn’t disclose my source of information. Jock then twigged that I knew something I shouldn’t. He dropped the charade. He said, ‘Billy gets more because he is the captain.’

IF THE HAT FITS…Tommy Gemmell poses outside his beloved Celtic Park.

I hasten to add that no-one at Celtic was thinking of walking out, taking strike action or anything as drastic as that over the issue. However, I pressed the matter with Jock, in the nicest possible way, of course. Remarkably, he relented and said, ‘Ach, I’ll have a word with the board about it. Away you go now.’ He waved his big left paw at me once more.

About a week later, Big Jock called a team meeting at Parkhead. Our crafty manager didn’t mention that he had a wee wage ‘negotiation’ with yours truly.

‘I’ve got some good news for you,’ he said. ‘I think you are well due a pay rise and I have presented the case to the chairman and the board of directors. They have agreed to give you all an extra fiver a week starting immediately. I think you’re worth it.’

My team-mates were delighted at their unexpected windfall – £5 was a reasonable bit of money in those days – and I was pleased, too.

So was Big Billy, who was still getting a tenner a week more than the rest of us!

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#CelticNoise #Celtic #CelticFC #CelticQuickNews

[infolibrary]

Nipsey Hussle's Fiancee, Heartbroken Mother, Son and Snoop Dogg Honor Him at #NipseyHusslememorial » UppBuzz

New Post has been published on http://www.infolibrary.net/nipsey-hussles-fiancee-heartbroken-mother-son-and-snoop-dogg-honor-him-at-nipseyhusslememorial-uppbuzz/

Nipsey Hussle's Fiancee, Heartbroken Mother, Son and Snoop Dogg Honor Him at #NipseyHusslememorial » UppBuzz

Nipsey Hussle’s legacy as a community activist, uniter, a doting father and a loving son were underscored at his public memorial service on Thursday, with deeply personal testimonies from those closest to the rapper, including his actress-fiancee Lauren London, collaborator and dear friend Snoop Dogg and his mother, who said she was at peace with the death of her “superhero” son.

“I’m very proud of my son. My son Ermias Joseph Asghedom was a great man,” said Angelique Smith, dressed in all white, remembering her 33-year-old son. Standing onstage with Hussle’s father, Dawit Asghedom, in front of a capacity crowd of 21,000 at the Staples Center, Smith declared: “Ermias was a legacy.”

Nipsey Hussle’s mother is a strong woman, “we are all divine creature, we don’t need to look to the sky for God, I have perfect peace; I am happy; I am complete; I am strong”#BETRemembersNipsey#NipseyHusslememorial #CelebrationOfNipseyHussle pic.twitter.com/pLGZQYLJ5t

— UppBuzz (@UppBuzz) April 11, 2019

London, dark sunglasses, was emotional but stood strong onstage as she told the audience: “I’ve never felt this type of pain before.”

London called Hussle “majestic” and “brilliant” and said she had learned so much from his presence. She added though she was hurting, she was really sad for their son Kross, whom she feared wouldn’t remember his dad: “My pain is for my two-year-old.”

Snoop Dogg’s words to immortalize his friend were both serious and silly, as he told old stories about Hussle and their brotherhood.

“This a tough one right here,” he said, visibly shaken but keeping his composure.

Snoop thanked Hussle’s parents multiple times and told his father that “you picked up another son in me.”

Hussle’s father said he knew his son was strong because when he was born, the umbilical cord was wrapped around his neck but he prevailed.

“He was a fighter,” he said.

Earlier in the ceremony, Hussle’s children also appeared onstage to pay tribute. London’s son with rapper Lil Wayne, Cameron Carter, said days after Hussle died, he had a dream he saw the rapper.

“I realized Ermias told me what heaven was like. He told me it was paradise,” Cameron said.

Cameron then told the audience that Hussle would look at him through the window at times and say “respect.” Cameron then asked the crowd to say “respect” in unison, and they complied.

Nipsey Hussle will forever be remembered… His brave son put ‘RESPECT’ in everybody’s mouth #NipseyHusslememorial#CelebrationOfNipseyHussle pic.twitter.com/dRH0n1vBqg

— UppBuzz (@UppBuzz) April 11, 2019

Hussle was slain last month in front of a store that he tried to use to empower his South Central neighborhood. The public memorial service kicked off by paying respect to Hussle the rapper, as songs from his latest Grammy-nominated album, Victory Lap, filled the arena.

“Everybody put your hands in the air,” the DJ said as one of Hussle’s songs played. “It’s a celebration.”

Amid tears for Nipsey Hussle, a rallying cry: ‘The marathon has to continue’

Indeed, his mother, dressed in all white, danced in the aisle as R&B singer Marsha Ambrosius sang the Mariah Carey song “Fly Like a Bird” while fighting back tears. “This is for Nipsey, y’all” Ambrosius said before she started as she tried to gain her composure, sighing heavily.

But soon the focus was squarely on the person behind the persona. A montage of photos featuring the rapper from infancy, childhood and adulthood, with fellow rappers, his family and London, were shown to the crowd, set to Frank Sinatra’s “My Way.”

Anthony Hamilton invoked the spirit of a church service as he performed in Hussle’s honor. Nation of Islam leader Louis Farrakhan hailed Hussle’s ability to bring different factions together. And blogger and media figure Karen Civil read a letter sent by former U.S. President Barack Obama.

“I’ve never meet Nipsey, but I’ve heard his music through my daughters, and after his passing I had the chance to learn more about his transformation and his community work. While most folks look at the Crenshaw neighborhood where he grew up and only see gangs, bullets and despair, Nipsey saw potential. He saw hope. He saw a community that even through its flaws taught him to always keep going. He choice to invest in that community rather than to ignore it,” the Obama letter read. “He set an example for young people to follow and is a legacy worth of celebration. I hope his memory inspires more good work in Crenshaw and communities like it. Michelle and I send our sympathies to Lauren, Emani, Kross and his while family and to all those who love Nipsey.”

At the memorial, Father Thomas Uwal read a scripture in Tigrinya — the native language in Eritrea, the African country where Hussle’s father was from. Father Uwal spoke of Hussle being a “proud to be an Eritrean-American,” later saying to the late rapper’s family: “On behalf of all Eritreans … we say our condolences to you.”

Books with an image of Hussle on the cover were handed out to service attendees. The book of nearly 100 pages contained numerous photos of Hussle with London, his children, and friends like Russell Westbrook and Snoop Dogg. It also had heartfelt messages from Rick Ross, The Game and LeBron James.

“I’ve never cried myself to sleep over any public figure before, but Nipsey’s presence meant so much for our community,” actress Issa Rae said in her message inside the book.

The hearse carrying Hussle’s coffin was scheduled to after the funeral to go on a 25-mile lap through the city, including past the property where Hussle had planned to turn an aging strip mall into new businesses and affordable homes. Finally, it will arrive at a funeral home in the city’s hard-scrabble Crenshaw district, where the rapper was born on Aug. 15, 1985.

Hussle was shot to death Mar. 31 while standing outside The Marathon, his South Los Angeles clothing store, not far from where the rapper grew up.

Eric R. Holder Jr., who has been charged with killing Hussle, has pleaded not guilty. Police have said Holder and Hussle had several interactions the day of the shooting and have described it as being the result of a personal dispute.

The rapper was a beloved figure for his philanthropic work that went well beyond the usual celebrity “giving back” ethos. Following his death, political and community leaders were as quick and effusive in their praise as his fellow hip-hop artists.

Hussle recently purchased the strip mall where The Marathon is located and planned to redevelop it, part of Hussle’s broader ambitions to remake the neighborhood where he grew up and attempt to break the cycle of gang life that lured him in when he was younger.

For a decade, Hussle released much sought-after mixtapes that he sold out of the trunk of his car, helping him create a buzz and gain respect from rap purists and his peers. His said his stage name, a play on the 1960s and ’70s rhyming standup comic Nipsey Russell, was given to him as a teen by an older friend because he was such a go-getter — always hustling.

He charged $100 for his 2013 mixtape Crenshaw, scoring a cash and publicity coup when Jay-Z bought 100 copies for $10,000.

Last year he hit new heights with Victory Lap, his critically acclaimed major-label debut album on Atlantic Records that made several critics’ best-of lists. The album debuted at No. 4 on Billboard’s 200 albums charts and earned him a Grammy nomination.

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[trendingnewsb]

You Are Lin-Manuel Miranda! Can You Avoid Blowing All Your Hamilton Money At The Mall?

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You are acclaimed composer, playwright, and actor Lin-Manuel Miranda. Your musical Hamilton won 11 Tony Awards including Best Musical, plus the Grammy for Best Musical Theater Album and the Pulitzer Prize for Drama.

Yes, I wrote “Hamilton.” I am Lin-Manuel Miranda.

It seems like Hamilton must be doing pretty well financially. The theater is always sold out, and you’re pretty sure you’re getting a percentage of the ticket sales.

You’re not really sure how much money you have in your bank account at this point. It’s been years since you bothered to check the balance. You gave your bank info to a Hamilton HR person, and they set up an auto-pay thingy for you when the show first opened. However, after years of Hamilton performing sold-out shows to rave reviews, you assume you’ve probably earned enough money to afford a trip to the mall.

Still, it’s better to be safe than sorry. You should check with a financial adviser to make sure the mall is within your budget.

Go to a financial adviser’s office.

What is the mall?

The mall is a gleaming palace of commerce, a paradise where dozens of stores coexist in the ultimate shopping experience. You’ve never been to the mall, but you’ve heard that anything can be bought there.

Since you were a little boy growing up in Manhattan, years before you wrote and starred in your first Tony-winning musical, 2008’s In The Heights, you dreamt of one day visiting the mall and going on a shopping spree. Apparently, there is even a court filled with food if you get hungry while you shop.

The mall apparently can be pretty expensive though, which is why you haven’t tried visiting until you stowed away a little nest egg by having the most popular musical in the world. It’s taken decades of hard work to become an internationally renowned Broadway star, but now perhaps, finally, it will pay off with a trip to the mall.

Go to a financial adviser’s office to see if you can afford the mall.

Sing an expository song about your lifelong dream of going to the mall.

The mall, the mall A place where you can buy it all! All my life I dreamt of shopping there The building that has stores everywhere Now at last, this is my chance To visit the mall! A place to buy anything at all! Even things like pants!

You head to the nearest financial adviser you can find, an accountant that owns a tax-preparation storefront called “TAXES DONE QUICK” near Times Square, wedged between a Dunkin’ Donuts and a CVS pharmacy.

The accountant recognizes you when you walk in. “Wow, you’re Lin-Manuel Miranda. What are you doing here?”

I need to review my finances and plan my budget.

Dump a folder containing your W-2, paychecks, business receipts, and $50 million in cash on the desk so the accountant can review your finances.

“Wow. Okay. I usually just file taxes for normal people that aren’t fabulously wealthy Tony Award winners, but sure, I’m happy to give it a shot.” The accountant whips out a calculator and starts trying to piece together the puzzle of pay stubs, royalty checks, and MacArthur Genius Grants you’ve presented him with.

“This will take a little while. Can I offer you a cup of sparkling water while you wait?”

Yes, thank you.

No, thank you.

Sparkling water is something you can drink from a cup Slurp it up! Drinking water with bubbles Eases your troubles Thanks to H20 and carbon dioxide Your tongue embarks on a refreshing ride

The account fills up a glass of sparkling water and hands it to you. It’s ice cold and crisp.

Silently wait for the accountant to finish.

“Suit yourself. All right, I better start figuring this out.”

Silently wait for the accountant to finish.

The sparkling water is ice cold and crisp.

Silently wait for the accountant to finish.

You rap about sparkling water. The accountant blinks, then fills up a cup of sparkling water and silently slides it across the desk.

Now you might be wondering, what the hell? What’s this water stuff, is it a solid or a gel? Neither one, son, it’s a liquid state of matter And it has no calories, so it can’t make you fatter

Drink the sparkling water.

Now let me opine about our friend, CO2 A gaseous sensation of odorless carbonation Infiltrating your hydration like a ninja of thirst assassination Two oxygen atoms bonded together with carbon, it’s the go-to When your thirst is the worst source of frustration And you need a fizzy drink to rectify the situation

Drink the sparkling water.

Wait a second, I hear you ask. Lin-Manuel, what goes in my glass? Is it a liquid or a gas? You mentioned both in turn Do I have to choose one, together they sound like a blast I’d hate to spurn water, or tell carbon dioxide I’ve passed Dooming my drink to mediocrity before it’s even begun A golden age of refreshment on the kingdom of my tongue

Drink the sparkling water.

The good news for your drink is you don’t have to elect Between water the liquid, and carbon dioxide the mist ‘Cause when you selected seltzer you chose to connect Bubbles with fluid, concocting effervescence that’s hard to resist So fill the glass to the brim, let it foam up With sparkling water, something you can drink from a cup!

Drink the sparkling water.

The accountant stares at you for a couple seconds, then after an awkward silence gives a few polite claps of applause.

Take a sip of sparkling water.

You take a small sip of sparkling water.

Put the glass back down on the desk.

Silently wait for the accountant to finish.

But who is responsible for this miraculous mixture? Who created sparkling water, the liquid delight? This tantalizing triumph of tingling moisture Letting me comfort my parched throat until it feels kosher By guzzling club soda all day and all night?

We gotta rewind back to the distant year of 1767 When a scientist by the name of Joseph Priestley Thank heaven, decided to investigate the nature of carbonation And stumbled upon a technique with revolutionary application The secret of affixing air to water to make a drink bubbly Bringing seltzer to the public of the English nation An Enlightenment scholar and natural philosopher A seeker of truth who found the secret of putting fizz in a beaker Dr. Priestley could have built a business empire Selling seltzer to the bidder who bid highest, but he didn’t conspire To make a profit off his refreshing invention No, he felt no need to be greedy, so decided to author A pamphlet with directions to replicate his creation So anyone could produce the scintillating refresher

So raise your seltzer to the sky, time for a toast! We have to praise this inventor for being the progenitor Of a beverage that is delicious to the utmost I’m talking, of course, about sparkling water That magnificent liquid I like to sup It’s something you can drink from a cup!

While you were rapping about sparkling water, the accountant finished reviewing your documents. He waits several seconds to make sure you’re done before beginning to speak.

“Lin-Manuel Miranda, after examining your finances I calculated you have a net worth of $100 million.”

Is that enough money to afford a trip to the mall?

The accountant grits his teeth in concentration as he pores through your complicated financial records. Finally, after what feels like hours, he finishes his analysis.

“Lin-Manuel Miranda, after examining your finances I calculated you have a net worth of $100 million.”

Is that enough money to afford a trip to the mall?

The accountant stares at you for a long moment before responding. “Yes.”

Great, I’m off to the mall! Thanks! Bye!

You toss $10 million to the accountant for his services, and head over to the mall.

Minus that payment to the accountant, your net worth is now $90 million. Hopefully that’s enough to buy some nice shirts at the mall, and maybe grab a sandwich for lunch.

Enter the mall.

At last, the mall A place where you can buy it all! The road to get here was long Which is why I sing this heartfelt song I want to buy nice shirts with collars Yes, I’m really at the mall I’m about to enter the mall I have 90 million dollars

The mall is beautiful beyond your wildest imagination. Rows of gleaming stores beckon invitingly, offering you any product your heart desires.

Then you hear it. The sound of jubilant shrieking and stampeding feet. It’s a familiar noise you know and fear.

Oh no. Not now. Not when my mall dream is about to come true.

You’ve been spotted by Hamilton fans. They crowd around you in a frenetic melee of grasping arms and adoring gazes.

“Wow, it’s Lin-Manuel Miranda!” screams one of them.

“We love Hamilton, and to a lesser extent we also love your other works such as In The Heights!” screams another.

“‘By casting minority actors to portray the Founding Fathers, Hamilton is a wryly clever subversion of the white patriarchal power structure that established America, examining the paradoxical moral duality of historical figures such as George Washington who are hailed as champions of freedom despite their guilt for partaking in the national original sin of slavery!” screams another fan.

“You also wrote the songs in Moana!” another fan screams helpfully.

This isn’t good. These fans are extremely appreciative of your music, and they’ll never leave you alone to shop in peace. You’ll have to find a way of losing them. Maybe you can pick up a disguise at one of the stores here so you can shop incognito.

Try to scare them off by singing the menacing song Aaron Burr sings in “Hamilton” during his deadly duel with Alexander Hamilton.

Run into Hot Topic to purchase a disguise.

You’re a fool, Alexander Hamilton That’s why I got myself a gun So we could duel, and I’ll shoot you in the head And then you’ll die, and you’ll be dead Then I guess I’ll go for lunch afterward They just invented paninis, have you heard? It’s basically a sandwich, but it’s grilled I’m eating bread with lines on it, after you’re killed They also invented french fries this morning Going to enjoy eating those, while your family’s in mourning It’s a stick of potato, fried until it’s gold And I’ll nosh on those while your corpse is growing mold Ketchup doesn’t exist yet, that’s my sorrow They’re really close though, it might exist by tomorrow Chefs are experimenting with tomatoes, giving it all they got Too bad you’ll never taste ketchup, because you’ll be shot

The point I’m trying to explain, Mr. Hamilton Is that I’m planning to shoot you with my gun And after our duel, when you’re deceased I’m going to buy a nice lunch and feast

Oh no, your plan backfired! Instead of scaring them away, singing a song from their favorite musical in the world made the Hamilton fans even more riled up.

Escape into Hot Topic.

Hot Topic is a large empty room containing only a somber man dressed up as a skeleton. “Hello, welcome to Hot Topic, The Store That Sells A Jack Skellington Costume™,” the Hot Topic cashier says glumly. “Would you like to buy our Jack Skellington costume? He’s the main guy from The Nightmare Before Christmas, which is a movie that came out in 1993. I am wearing the costume, but you can still buy it.”

You only have one costume for sale?

Jack Skellington was the boss of Halloween Town Despite his skeletal grin he still bore a frown He had a hole in his heart that fright couldn’t fill Until he learned about Christmas and got a thrill The pumpkin king of Halloween caused a scene Kidnapping Santa so he could reign supreme Over Yuletide joy by making creepy toys But the gifts were too scary for all the girls and boys

So Jack Skellington fought a bug-filled sack And saved Santa Claus to bring real Christmas back Jolly Saint Nick put the holiday to rights So people could properly celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ

“Huh,” says the Hot Topic cashier. “Is that the plot to The Nightmare Before Christmas? I’ve never seen it. Anyway, do you want to buy our one costume?”

You only have one costume for sale?

“Unfortunately, yeah, we’re down to our last Jack Skellington costume,” the Hot Topic cashier says sadly. “Long ago, Hot Topic was rich with Jack Skellington costumes. Shelf after shelf of Jack Skellington costumes filled this store, and hundreds of people came every day to buy their Jack Skellington costumes. In that golden age of the mall, Hot Topic was known as The Store That Sells Many Jack Skellington Costumes™.”

What happened?

“People don’t come to the mall anymore to buy their Jack Skellington costumes,” mourns the Hot Topic cashier. “They just buy Jack Skellington costumes online from the comfort of their own home, without even having to put on a pair of Jack Skellington pants to leave the house.”

That’s horrible! Allow me to help Hot Topic out by buying your Jack Skellington costume.

You toss the Hot Topic cashier $20 million, and he strips naked and hands you the Jack Skellington costume. His frown is now replaced by a grateful smile. “Thank you, Lin-Manuel Miranda! Wow, the retail price of this costume was $34.95, so it’s really nice of you to give Hot Topic $20 million for it.”

You put on the heavily used Jack Skellington costume. It smells like old sweat and bad deodorant, but it’ll keep you from being recognized by your fans.

Take your remaining $70 million and shop elsewhere.

You run into the crowd of Hamilton fans again when you leave Hot Topic. “Excuse us, Mr. Skellington! Did you happen to see which way Lin-Manuel Miranda went?” one shouts inquisitively at you.

Good. It seems that your costume has them fooled.

I saw a very large bird pick up Lin-Manuel Miranda and swallow him.

Last I saw Lin-Manuel Miranda, he had just been picked up by a very large bird, and as it ate him, he was singing a song that goes like this:

I’m Lin-Manuel, the composer of “Hamilton” A very large bird has me grasped in a talon It’s eating me as we speak I’m sliding down its beak Now I’m stuck in an avian, forever gone I am not dressed up like Jack Skellington

“We’ve got to rescue Lin-Manuel Miranda from that bird’s stomach so we can continue to scream nice things at him!” scream your fans. They begin feverishly roaming the mall in search of the fictional bird that supposedly swallowed you.

Now you’re free to roam the mall in peace. But what store will you visit next?

Go to whichever store is closest, which happens to be Borders bookstore.

Remember the song the actors playing your parents sang in your 2004 autobiographical off-Broadway play, “Lin-Manuel Miranda, If You Ever Visit The Mall Here’s A Store You Must Shop At.”

Father: “My little Lin, should you ever find yourself within…”

Mother: “That wonderful hall known as the mall…”

Father: “Visit the book hoarders, known as Borders”

Greek Chorus: Oh-oh-oh, yeah-yeah-yeah. Borders bookstore and café.

5-Year-Old Lin-Manuel Miranda: Whoa, what did they say? It’s a bookstore and a café?

Father: Son, believe it. It’s true. Borders can sell both books and coffee to you.

Mother: That’s why the slogan of this fine bookseller is “Books And Coffee Together Sounds Too Good To Be True, But It Is True, Because It’s At Borders, Where You Can Place Both Coffee And Book Orders™.”

Greek Chorus: Hey-hey-hey, yes-yes-yes, wow-wow-wow. Borders.

Follow your parents’ advice and eagerly run to Borders bookstore.

A huge line of people wearing wizard costumes are camped outside the entrance to Borders.

Excuse me, what’s going on here?

“Salutations, friend! I am Harry Potter,” says one of the wizard cosplayers waiting outside Borders. “We are on line for the DVD release of Harry Potter And The Deathly Hallows – Part 2.”

Didn’t the DVD of “Harry Potter And The Deathly Hallows – Part 2” come out in 2011?

In your excitement for Borders, shove past the wizards without talking to them.

“Hello, I am Ronald Weasley!” says another wizard cosplayer. “Yes, Harry Potter And The Deathly Hallows – Part 2 was released on DVD on November 11, 2011. But Borders went out of business on September 11 of 2011, two months before the DVD came out, so we never got to buy it.”

The Ronald Weasley cosplayer sighs forlornly. “We’ve been waiting on line ever since, hoping that Borders reopens someday so we can buy the DVD of Harry Potter And The Deathly Hallows – Part 2.”

No, not Borders! It can’t be closed! I was going to buy a coffee and read an entire book without buying it, and then use the bathroom, and then leave.

Hold on, if Borders has been closed since 2011, why haven’t you just gone somewhere else to buy “Harry Potter And The Deathly Hallows – Part 2” on DVD?

“Hello, we’re Hermione Granger, Albus Dumbledore, and Draco Malfoy,” say three more wizards. “We can’t leave to buy the DVD elsewhere, because then we’ll give up our place in line in case Borders ever reopens.”

Look through the window into Borders.

Borders is out of business. You stare through the window at the tragically empty shelves of the store, where once books and coffee coexisted in beautiful harmony.

Sing a mournful dirge called “Requiem For Borders Bookstore.”

Sing a defiant ballad called “I Vow To Reopen Borders Bookstore Somehow.”

Farewell Borders, c’est la vie I never had the chance to view Your books and coffee Borders bookstore, so long and adieu Now I cannot buy Books and coffee in the same store It’s sad that Borders had to die Goodbye forever, bookseller I adore

Farewell Borders, merci beaucoup You’ve flown up to heaven in the sky So angels can buy books and coffee in you Borders bookstore, au revoir and goodbye

When Alexander Hamilton faced the British Army To make America a free land Did he falter or get squirmy? No, he bravely fought and made his stand I, Lin-Manuel Miranda, am going to do the same thing Except instead of driving the redcoats from our shore And freeing the colonies from the rule of a king I vow to somehow reopen Borders bookstore When I compare myself to Alexander Hamilton It’s a comparison just about our levels of determination To achieve the ambition we have set our hearts on I’m reopening Borders, not founding a new nation

Just to reiterate, I am not fighting England Or working for a general named George Washington I’m trying to be crystal clear about this so you understand Other than our level of determination, I am nothing like Hamilton

Wiping tears from your eyes, you stride away from the dead husk of Borders to explore the rest of the mall.

You have $70 million to spend, and you’re a grown-up, so you can keep track of how much money you have left from now on. Shop wherever you want, and just remember how much you’re spending. You can do simple arithmetic, right? When you’re out of money, click on “I’m broke” in order to fail. This is on the honor system.

Maybe you’ll find a way to reopen Borders bookstore while you’re at the mall. Or maybe not. You don’t have to. It’s a goal, if you feel like having a goal. You’re Lin-Manuel Miranda, do whatever the hell you want.

Go to Best Buy.

Go to Unfortunately Just Books.

Go to McDonald’s.

Go to the coffee shop Tragically Just Coffee.

Speak to Paul Blart, mall cop.

I’m broke.

You are not broke. You just arrived at the mall, and you still have $70 million left.

Come back when you’re actually out of money.

Go shopping.

“Welcome to Tragically Just Coffee, the wretched café where books aren’t also for sale,” says the barista. “Would you like to buy one of our dumb, book-less coffees?”

Buy a coffee.

Coffee is the black madness juice Drink it to go nuts with power Your brain will pop loose As you stay awake for hour after hour Espresso tastes like sour dirts Like mud from a witch’s trash heap If I don’t drink it, my head hurts And I can peacefully fall asleep

Coffee, espresso, cappuccino, me oh my I will drink that sludge until it fills me I’m going to gulp coffee until I die Because my blood is entirely coffee

Which coffee drink do you want to buy, and pay $12 million for?

Coffee.

Espresso Delight.

Mega-Coffee.

Whole Milk With One Coffee Bean Floating In It.

Widow’s Lament.

Mocha Blaster.

Gentleman’s Frapp.

Espresso Tragedy.

Hyper-Coffee.

Mostly Coffee.

Pervert’s Frapp.

Just Latte Art Without Any Beverage Beneath The Foam.

The barista hands you a Mocha Blaster, a piping-hot coffee drink that is half-drip coffee, half-ice cream sundae fudge, with a pound of chocolate chips and unshelled

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[celticnoise]

CELTIC legend Tommy Gemmell made his Hoops debut exactly FIFTY-SIX YEARS ago when he was introduced at left-back for a First Division game against Aberdeen at Pittodrie.

He was 19 at the time and was promoted to the top side following a 4-0 defeat at Ibrox.

On this occasion, though, the players celebrated a landslide victory as they hammered the Dons 5-1 with Big John Hughes firing in a hat-trick.

It was the start of something good for Big TG and his team-mates.

To celebrate the landmark anniversary, CQN are publishing edited extracts of a chapter from the autobiography Gemmell did with his friend and author Alex Gordon, entitled ‘All The Best’ in 2014.

Sadly, the Celtic great passed away on March 2 2017 leaving the Hoops supporters with a host of wonderful memories.

This might take some readers down memory lane.

******

WEE Jimmy Johnstone often told me that I had been decorated more often than the Queen’s living room. I never thought to ask Jinky exactly how he knew of the specific arrangements for the makeovers at Buck House, but I got the drift.

What the Wee Man didn’t know was that there was one honour I should have won on a weekly basis – the Best Actor’s award.

No doubt my former team-mates and fans alike will be surprised by this revelation, but it’s time to come clean. I was never quite as laidback as everyone thought I was. It was all an act. I wasn’t a bag of nerves before every game, but I can tell you the butterflies were there.

I was as much subject to normal human frailties as the next man. I just did my best to disguise it while sauntering around the dressing room looking as though I didn’t have a care in the world. But, deep inside, I felt the tension. The trick was not to show it. And once you have done it a couple of times as a cocky youngster coming into the first team to mix with the big boys, then you are stuck with it for the rest of your life. It becomes unshakeable and forms your personality.

Looking back, I realise I had more front than Brighton Pier. I was never really concerned about the image. That was never a priority from someone from a housing scheme in Craigneuk, Lanarkshire. But I realised I had lumbered myself with a part to play.

I read in the newspapers that I was flamboyant, cavalier, buccaneering, flashy, swashbuckling, exciting and dashing. I don’t think any other Celtic full-back in the history of the club had ever been described in such graphic, praiseworthy terms. Again, that is not being big-headed.

In the earlier days, they were defenders first and foremost. They were never encouraged to cross the halfway line. That was a massive no-no. However, that had always been my natural instinct, to get into enemy territory and do as much damage as possible. I knew I had a good shot in either foot, with my right being the stronger, and, with Jock Stein around, you were given every opportunity to get forward and attempt to create havoc.

WALLOP…Tommy Gemmell’s most famous goal as he thunders in the equaliser in the European Cup win over Inter Milan on May 25 1967 in Lisbon.

I scored my first league goal for the club on October 28 1964, but I didn’t do too much celebrating as we had just been humped 5-2 by Kilmarnock at Rugby Park. At least, I had put down my marker. It was quite awhile afterwards that Big Jock handed me the penalty-taking duties. Before me, the players on the spot were Dunky MacKay, Bobby Murdoch, Bertie Auld, Ian Young, Charlie Gallagher, Joe McBride and John Hughes.

So, I had to wait my turn before I was given the nod when we were awarded one in our European Cup first round second leg tie against Zurich in Switzerland on October 5 1966 en route to conquering Europe. I had scored in the first game in Glasgow, a 2-0 win, and I had netted again in Zurich. We were 2-0 up in that game – Stevie Chalmers got the other – and I was given the ball to complete a hat-trick over the two legs. I clubbed it into the net and that was me the No.1 choice.

I have to say I was never nervous before I took a penalty. Normally the adrenalin would be pumping because you don’t often get a spot-kick in the first five minutes or so unless, of course, it is an absolute stonewaller. So, I was mainly into my stride by the time we ever received an award. I felt sorry for the goalkeeper before I took a penalty. He had no idea where I was going to place it for one very good reason – I hadn’t a clue myself.

My secret of a good penalty-kick was simple; hammer it as hard as you can, get it on target and see what happens after that. I had a fairly good record, even if I do say so myself. I think I missed three out of thirty-seven attempts and I believe I hit the keeper on two of those occasions. They weren’t quick enough to get out of the way!

YOUNG BHOY…Tommy Gemmell in an early picture.

Being a Celtic player was simply wonderful. The public might never have believed it, but Celtic and Rangers players actually got on quite well with each other. Wee Willie Henderson was a particular friend of mine. Bertie Auld, Willie Wallace, myself and a couple of others used to go to Reid’s Bar on Hope Street in Glasgow after a game on a Saturday.

It was owned by Partick Thistle chairman and SFA President Tom Reid and a lot of footballers used to hang out there. They had an upstairs bar where you could get a bit of privacy. Normally we would be joined by the Rangers contingent of Wee Willie, Ronnie McKinnon, Davie Provan and Willie Johnston. It was all very affable, I must say.

Jock Stein abhorred alcohol, as we all know, so it may surprise a few that the Celtic players were allowed a drop of whisky before every game. Okay, it wasn’t enough to cater for a party. In fact, it was only a quarter bottle of whisky and it was kept out of sight in the shower room.

Big Jock never allowed anyone else into the dressing room apart from the players and staff, but on the off-chance someone did enter his exclusive sanctum, there would never be any booze on display. However, if the players fancied a nip before kick-off they could go and have a quick snifter with the boss’s blessing.

I’m not a whisky drinker, but I had a swig one day to test out its therapeutic qualities. That was a one-off. I never touched it again. A lot of the other players didn’t bother, either, but that bottle was almost always empty before we left to take the field. I’m not pointing any accusing fingers, you understand, but Ronnie Simpson seemed to make more visits to the shower room than anyone else. Read into that what you will.

Ronnie was a great character. Do you know the only two members of the Lisbon Lions squad who smoked were the goalkeepers, Ronnie and John Fallon? And, before them, the only other bloke I saw smoking at Celtic Park was Frank Haffey, another goalkeeper. Bertie Auld would often be photographed with a giant cigar after a trophy triumph, but I doubt if he ever smoked it. That cigar probably followed him throughout his career and was never lit!

JUST IN TIME…Tommy Gemmell could defend, too, as he proves with a block on a goalbound shot from a Falkirk player.

Jim Craig flummoxed Big Jock. Our manager could never understand why our right-back had a profession outside football. Jim, of course, was a dentist and combined both trades fairly well. How many dentists do you know who have a European Cup winner’s medal in their possession?

The man known to us as Cairney must be unique. Cairney? Back then, there was a Scottish actor called John Cairney who starred in a TV series called This Man Craig, so we simply switched names.

To be honest, I don’t think Cairney ever received the praise he deserved. I’m probably to blame to a certain extent. The supporters would see me bombing up and down the left flank and, if I was lucky, walloping in a goal or two. Scoring goals wasn’t Cairney’s forte, though. What he provided was remarkable athleticism on the right. He didn’t go on eye-catching mazy runs, but he certainly contributed to the cause.

Jim was the University-type. I’m sure he thought the rest of his team-mates were half-footballer half-imbecile. He probably believed an amoeba had more brain cells than the lot of us put together. I never tired of telling him he wasn’t the only one who possessed grey matter in the team. I had won the Dux medal at Wishaw High School Senior Secondary, after all.

Billy McNeill would give his team-mates dog’s abuse during a game if he thought it was merited. If you gave the ball away needlessly with a slack pass you could expect to get it in the ear from Big Billy. In fact, every individual in the Celtic team would give a colleague pelters if it was deserved.

That was the type of team we were. We all wanted to be winners and no-one was shy about firing out a verbal volley if we thought somebody was falling short of the required standard. It didn’t do us any harm, did it? We could spend an-hour-and-a-half shouting and bawling at each other, but it never carried on into the dressing room afterwards. Not once.

You hear all sort of stories about bust-ups among players in the privacy of their sanctuary away from prying eyes, but, no matter how heated it got during a game, that wasn’t the case with us. Sure, there could be a word or two, but that was all.

GOVAN GLEE…Tommy Gemmell celebrates a Celtic goal against Rangers at Ibrox along with team-mates Bobby Murdoch, Bobby Lennox and Bertie Auld.

Big Billy was Jock’s general on the park, but he realised he was surrounded by players with the same positive outlook. Billy got it in the neck every now and again, too. No-one was immune. We won as a team and we lost as a team. People can look at the surviving Lisbon Lions today and see us all getting on well with each other. They may think that is merely for the public’s consumption.

Believe me, that affection we have for each other is genuine and has lasted well over four decades. My wee pal Willie Wallace may now be living on the other side of the world in Queensland, Australia, but we still keep in touch. That wee bugger will telephone me in the dead of winter to tell me he is enjoying a barbeque in his back garden. Now that’s what I call a friend.

It was a minor source of irritation to some players that Big Billy was getting a tenner a week more than the rest of us. Jock’s secretary revealed this to me once and I took it up with the manager. At first, Jock, who was always very careful with Celtic’s cash, denied the claim.

I couldn’t drop the secretary in it, so I wouldn’t disclose my source of information. Jock then twigged that I knew something I shouldn’t. He dropped the charade. He said, ‘Billy gets more because he is the captain.’

IF THE HAT FITS…Tommy Gemmell poses outside his beloved Celtic Park.

I hasten to add that no-one at Celtic was thinking of walking out, taking strike action or anything as drastic as that over the issue. However, I pressed the matter with Jock, in the nicest possible way, of course. Remarkably, he relented and said, ‘Ach, I’ll have a word with the board about it. Away you go now.’ He waved his big left paw at me once more.

About a week later, Big Jock called a team meeting at Parkhead. Our crafty manager didn’t mention that he had a wee wage ‘negotiation’ with yours truly.

‘I’ve got some good news for you,’ he said. ‘I think you are well due a pay rise and I have presented the case to the chairman and the board of directors. They have agreed to give you all an extra fiver a week starting immediately. I think you’re worth it.’

My team-mates were delighted at their unexpected windfall – £5 was a reasonable bit of money in those days – and I was pleased, too.

So was Big Billy, who was still getting a tenner a week more than the rest of us!

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You Are Lin-Manuel Miranda! Can You Avoid Blowing All Your Hamilton Money At The Mall?

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You are acclaimed composer, playwright, and actor Lin-Manuel Miranda. Your musical Hamilton won 11 Tony Awards including Best Musical, plus the Grammy for Best Musical Theater Album and the Pulitzer Prize for Drama.

Yes, I wrote “Hamilton.” I am Lin-Manuel Miranda.

It seems like Hamilton must be doing pretty well financially. The theater is always sold out, and you’re pretty sure you’re getting a percentage of the ticket sales.

You’re not really sure how much money you have in your bank account at this point. It’s been years since you bothered to check the balance. You gave your bank info to a Hamilton HR person, and they set up an auto-pay thingy for you when the show first opened. However, after years of Hamilton performing sold-out shows to rave reviews, you assume you’ve probably earned enough money to afford a trip to the mall.

Still, it’s better to be safe than sorry. You should check with a financial adviser to make sure the mall is within your budget.

Go to a financial adviser’s office.

What is the mall?

The mall is a gleaming palace of commerce, a paradise where dozens of stores coexist in the ultimate shopping experience. You’ve never been to the mall, but you’ve heard that anything can be bought there.

Since you were a little boy growing up in Manhattan, years before you wrote and starred in your first Tony-winning musical, 2008’s In The Heights, you dreamt of one day visiting the mall and going on a shopping spree. Apparently, there is even a court filled with food if you get hungry while you shop.

The mall apparently can be pretty expensive though, which is why you haven’t tried visiting until you stowed away a little nest egg by having the most popular musical in the world. It’s taken decades of hard work to become an internationally renowned Broadway star, but now perhaps, finally, it will pay off with a trip to the mall.

Go to a financial adviser’s office to see if you can afford the mall.

Sing an expository song about your lifelong dream of going to the mall.

The mall, the mall A place where you can buy it all! All my life I dreamt of shopping there The building that has stores everywhere Now at last, this is my chance To visit the mall! A place to buy anything at all! Even things like pants!

You head to the nearest financial adviser you can find, an accountant that owns a tax-preparation storefront called “TAXES DONE QUICK” near Times Square, wedged between a Dunkin’ Donuts and a CVS pharmacy.

The accountant recognizes you when you walk in. “Wow, you’re Lin-Manuel Miranda. What are you doing here?”

I need to review my finances and plan my budget.

Dump a folder containing your W-2, paychecks, business receipts, and $50 million in cash on the desk so the accountant can review your finances.

“Wow. Okay. I usually just file taxes for normal people that aren’t fabulously wealthy Tony Award winners, but sure, I’m happy to give it a shot.” The accountant whips out a calculator and starts trying to piece together the puzzle of pay stubs, royalty checks, and MacArthur Genius Grants you’ve presented him with.

“This will take a little while. Can I offer you a cup of sparkling water while you wait?”

Yes, thank you.

No, thank you.

Sparkling water is something you can drink from a cup Slurp it up! Drinking water with bubbles Eases your troubles Thanks to H20 and carbon dioxide Your tongue embarks on a refreshing ride

The account fills up a glass of sparkling water and hands it to you. It’s ice cold and crisp.

Silently wait for the accountant to finish.

“Suit yourself. All right, I better start figuring this out.”

Silently wait for the accountant to finish.

The sparkling water is ice cold and crisp.

Silently wait for the accountant to finish.

You rap about sparkling water. The accountant blinks, then fills up a cup of sparkling water and silently slides it across the desk.

Now you might be wondering, what the hell? What’s this water stuff, is it a solid or a gel? Neither one, son, it’s a liquid state of matter And it has no calories, so it can’t make you fatter

Drink the sparkling water.

Now let me opine about our friend, CO2 A gaseous sensation of odorless carbonation Infiltrating your hydration like a ninja of thirst assassination Two oxygen atoms bonded together with carbon, it’s the go-to When your thirst is the worst source of frustration And you need a fizzy drink to rectify the situation

Drink the sparkling water.

Wait a second, I hear you ask. Lin-Manuel, what goes in my glass? Is it a liquid or a gas? You mentioned both in turn Do I have to choose one, together they sound like a blast I’d hate to spurn water, or tell carbon dioxide I’ve passed Dooming my drink to mediocrity before it’s even begun A golden age of refreshment on the kingdom of my tongue

Drink the sparkling water.

The good news for your drink is you don’t have to elect Between water the liquid, and carbon dioxide the mist ‘Cause when you selected seltzer you chose to connect Bubbles with fluid, concocting effervescence that’s hard to resist So fill the glass to the brim, let it foam up With sparkling water, something you can drink from a cup!

Drink the sparkling water.

The accountant stares at you for a couple seconds, then after an awkward silence gives a few polite claps of applause.

Take a sip of sparkling water.

You take a small sip of sparkling water.

Put the glass back down on the desk.

Silently wait for the accountant to finish.

But who is responsible for this miraculous mixture? Who created sparkling water, the liquid delight? This tantalizing triumph of tingling moisture Letting me comfort my parched throat until it feels kosher By guzzling club soda all day and all night?

We gotta rewind back to the distant year of 1767 When a scientist by the name of Joseph Priestley Thank heaven, decided to investigate the nature of carbonation And stumbled upon a technique with revolutionary application The secret of affixing air to water to make a drink bubbly Bringing seltzer to the public of the English nation An Enlightenment scholar and natural philosopher A seeker of truth who found the secret of putting fizz in a beaker Dr. Priestley could have built a business empire Selling seltzer to the bidder who bid highest, but he didn’t conspire To make a profit off his refreshing invention No, he felt no need to be greedy, so decided to author A pamphlet with directions to replicate his creation So anyone could produce the scintillating refresher

So raise your seltzer to the sky, time for a toast! We have to praise this inventor for being the progenitor Of a beverage that is delicious to the utmost I’m talking, of course, about sparkling water That magnificent liquid I like to sup It’s something you can drink from a cup!

While you were rapping about sparkling water, the accountant finished reviewing your documents. He waits several seconds to make sure you’re done before beginning to speak.

“Lin-Manuel Miranda, after examining your finances I calculated you have a net worth of $100 million.”

Is that enough money to afford a trip to the mall?

The accountant grits his teeth in concentration as he pores through your complicated financial records. Finally, after what feels like hours, he finishes his analysis.

“Lin-Manuel Miranda, after examining your finances I calculated you have a net worth of $100 million.”

Is that enough money to afford a trip to the mall?

The accountant stares at you for a long moment before responding. “Yes.”

Great, I’m off to the mall! Thanks! Bye!

You toss $10 million to the accountant for his services, and head over to the mall.

Minus that payment to the accountant, your net worth is now $90 million. Hopefully that’s enough to buy some nice shirts at the mall, and maybe grab a sandwich for lunch.

Enter the mall.

At last, the mall A place where you can buy it all! The road to get here was long Which is why I sing this heartfelt song I want to buy nice shirts with collars Yes, I’m really at the mall I’m about to enter the mall I have 90 million dollars

The mall is beautiful beyond your wildest imagination. Rows of gleaming stores beckon invitingly, offering you any product your heart desires.

Then you hear it. The sound of jubilant shrieking and stampeding feet. It’s a familiar noise you know and fear.

Oh no. Not now. Not when my mall dream is about to come true.

You’ve been spotted by Hamilton fans. They crowd around you in a frenetic melee of grasping arms and adoring gazes.

“Wow, it’s Lin-Manuel Miranda!” screams one of them.

“We love Hamilton, and to a lesser extent we also love your other works such as In The Heights!” screams another.

“‘By casting minority actors to portray the Founding Fathers, Hamilton is a wryly clever subversion of the white patriarchal power structure that established America, examining the paradoxical moral duality of historical figures such as George Washington who are hailed as champions of freedom despite their guilt for partaking in the national original sin of slavery!” screams another fan.

“You also wrote the songs in Moana!” another fan screams helpfully.

This isn’t good. These fans are extremely appreciative of your music, and they’ll never leave you alone to shop in peace. You’ll have to find a way of losing them. Maybe you can pick up a disguise at one of the stores here so you can shop incognito.

Try to scare them off by singing the menacing song Aaron Burr sings in “Hamilton” during his deadly duel with Alexander Hamilton.

Run into Hot Topic to purchase a disguise.

You’re a fool, Alexander Hamilton That’s why I got myself a gun So we could duel, and I’ll shoot you in the head And then you’ll die, and you’ll be dead Then I guess I’ll go for lunch afterward They just invented paninis, have you heard? It’s basically a sandwich, but it’s grilled I’m eating bread with lines on it, after you’re killed They also invented french fries this morning Going to enjoy eating those, while your family’s in mourning It’s a stick of potato, fried until it’s gold And I’ll nosh on those while your corpse is growing mold Ketchup doesn’t exist yet, that’s my sorrow They’re really close though, it might exist by tomorrow Chefs are experimenting with tomatoes, giving it all they got Too bad you’ll never taste ketchup, because you’ll be shot

The point I’m trying to explain, Mr. Hamilton Is that I’m planning to shoot you with my gun And after our duel, when you’re deceased I’m going to buy a nice lunch and feast

Oh no, your plan backfired! Instead of scaring them away, singing a song from their favorite musical in the world made the Hamilton fans even more riled up.

Escape into Hot Topic.

Hot Topic is a large empty room containing only a somber man dressed up as a skeleton. “Hello, welcome to Hot Topic, The Store That Sells A Jack Skellington Costume™,” the Hot Topic cashier says glumly. “Would you like to buy our Jack Skellington costume? He’s the main guy from The Nightmare Before Christmas, which is a movie that came out in 1993. I am wearing the costume, but you can still buy it.”

You only have one costume for sale?

Jack Skellington was the boss of Halloween Town Despite his skeletal grin he still bore a frown He had a hole in his heart that fright couldn’t fill Until he learned about Christmas and got a thrill The pumpkin king of Halloween caused a scene Kidnapping Santa so he could reign supreme Over Yuletide joy by making creepy toys But the gifts were too scary for all the girls and boys

So Jack Skellington fought a bug-filled sack And saved Santa Claus to bring real Christmas back Jolly Saint Nick put the holiday to rights So people could properly celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ

“Huh,” says the Hot Topic cashier. “Is that the plot to The Nightmare Before Christmas? I’ve never seen it. Anyway, do you want to buy our one costume?”

You only have one costume for sale?

“Unfortunately, yeah, we’re down to our last Jack Skellington costume,” the Hot Topic cashier says sadly. “Long ago, Hot Topic was rich with Jack Skellington costumes. Shelf after shelf of Jack Skellington costumes filled this store, and hundreds of people came every day to buy their Jack Skellington costumes. In that golden age of the mall, Hot Topic was known as The Store That Sells Many Jack Skellington Costumes™.”

What happened?

“People don’t come to the mall anymore to buy their Jack Skellington costumes,” mourns the Hot Topic cashier. “They just buy Jack Skellington costumes online from the comfort of their own home, without even having to put on a pair of Jack Skellington pants to leave the house.”

That’s horrible! Allow me to help Hot Topic out by buying your Jack Skellington costume.

You toss the Hot Topic cashier $20 million, and he strips naked and hands you the Jack Skellington costume. His frown is now replaced by a grateful smile. “Thank you, Lin-Manuel Miranda! Wow, the retail price of this costume was $34.95, so it’s really nice of you to give Hot Topic $20 million for it.”

You put on the heavily used Jack Skellington costume. It smells like old sweat and bad deodorant, but it’ll keep you from being recognized by your fans.

Take your remaining $70 million and shop elsewhere.

You run into the crowd of Hamilton fans again when you leave Hot Topic. “Excuse us, Mr. Skellington! Did you happen to see which way Lin-Manuel Miranda went?” one shouts inquisitively at you.

Good. It seems that your costume has them fooled.

I saw a very large bird pick up Lin-Manuel Miranda and swallow him.

Last I saw Lin-Manuel Miranda, he had just been picked up by a very large bird, and as it ate him, he was singing a song that goes like this:

I’m Lin-Manuel, the composer of “Hamilton” A very large bird has me grasped in a talon It’s eating me as we speak I’m sliding down its beak Now I’m stuck in an avian, forever gone I am not dressed up like Jack Skellington

“We’ve got to rescue Lin-Manuel Miranda from that bird’s stomach so we can continue to scream nice things at him!” scream your fans. They begin feverishly roaming the mall in search of the fictional bird that supposedly swallowed you.

Now you’re free to roam the mall in peace. But what store will you visit next?

Go to whichever store is closest, which happens to be Borders bookstore.

Remember the song the actors playing your parents sang in your 2004 autobiographical off-Broadway play, “Lin-Manuel Miranda, If You Ever Visit The Mall Here’s A Store You Must Shop At.”

Father: “My little Lin, should you ever find yourself within…”

Mother: “That wonderful hall known as the mall…”

Father: “Visit the book hoarders, known as Borders”

Greek Chorus: Oh-oh-oh, yeah-yeah-yeah. Borders bookstore and café.

5-Year-Old Lin-Manuel Miranda: Whoa, what did they say? It’s a bookstore and a café?

Father: Son, believe it. It’s true. Borders can sell both books and coffee to you.

Mother: That’s why the slogan of this fine bookseller is “Books And Coffee Together Sounds Too Good To Be True, But It Is True, Because It’s At Borders, Where You Can Place Both Coffee And Book Orders™.”

Greek Chorus: Hey-hey-hey, yes-yes-yes, wow-wow-wow. Borders.

Follow your parents’ advice and eagerly run to Borders bookstore.

A huge line of people wearing wizard costumes are camped outside the entrance to Borders.

Excuse me, what’s going on here?

“Salutations, friend! I am Harry Potter,” says one of the wizard cosplayers waiting outside Borders. “We are on line for the DVD release of Harry Potter And The Deathly Hallows – Part 2.”

Didn’t the DVD of “Harry Potter And The Deathly Hallows – Part 2” come out in 2011?

In your excitement for Borders, shove past the wizards without talking to them.

“Hello, I am Ronald Weasley!” says another wizard cosplayer. “Yes, Harry Potter And The Deathly Hallows – Part 2 was released on DVD on November 11, 2011. But Borders went out of business on September 11 of 2011, two months before the DVD came out, so we never got to buy it.”

The Ronald Weasley cosplayer sighs forlornly. “We’ve been waiting on line ever since, hoping that Borders reopens someday so we can buy the DVD of Harry Potter And The Deathly Hallows – Part 2.”

No, not Borders! It can’t be closed! I was going to buy a coffee and read an entire book without buying it, and then use the bathroom, and then leave.

Hold on, if Borders has been closed since 2011, why haven’t you just gone somewhere else to buy “Harry Potter And The Deathly Hallows – Part 2” on DVD?

“Hello, we’re Hermione Granger, Albus Dumbledore, and Draco Malfoy,” say three more wizards. “We can’t leave to buy the DVD elsewhere, because then we’ll give up our place in line in case Borders ever reopens.”

Look through the window into Borders.

Borders is out of business. You stare through the window at the tragically empty shelves of the store, where once books and coffee coexisted in beautiful harmony.

Sing a mournful dirge called “Requiem For Borders Bookstore.”

Sing a defiant ballad called “I Vow To Reopen Borders Bookstore Somehow.”

Farewell Borders, c’est la vie I never had the chance to view Your books and coffee Borders bookstore, so long and adieu Now I cannot buy Books and coffee in the same store It’s sad that Borders had to die Goodbye forever, bookseller I adore

Farewell Borders, merci beaucoup You’ve flown up to heaven in the sky So angels can buy books and coffee in you Borders bookstore, au revoir and goodbye

When Alexander Hamilton faced the British Army To make America a free land Did he falter or get squirmy? No, he bravely fought and made his stand I, Lin-Manuel Miranda, am going to do the same thing Except instead of driving the redcoats from our shore And freeing the colonies from the rule of a king I vow to somehow reopen Borders bookstore When I compare myself to Alexander Hamilton It’s a comparison just about our levels of determination To achieve the ambition we have set our hearts on I’m reopening Borders, not founding a new nation

Just to reiterate, I am not fighting England Or working for a general named George Washington I’m trying to be crystal clear about this so you understand Other than our level of determination, I am nothing like Hamilton

Wiping tears from your eyes, you stride away from the dead husk of Borders to explore the rest of the mall.

You have $70 million to spend, and you’re a grown-up, so you can keep track of how much money you have left from now on. Shop wherever you want, and just remember how much you’re spending. You can do simple arithmetic, right? When you’re out of money, click on “I’m broke” in order to fail. This is on the honor system.

Maybe you’ll find a way to reopen Borders bookstore while you’re at the mall. Or maybe not. You don’t have to. It’s a goal, if you feel like having a goal. You’re Lin-Manuel Miranda, do whatever the hell you want.

Go to Best Buy.

Go to Unfortunately Just Books.

Go to McDonald’s.

Go to the coffee shop Tragically Just Coffee.

Speak to Paul Blart, mall cop.

I’m broke.

You are not broke. You just arrived at the mall, and you still have $70 million left.

Come back when you’re actually out of money.

Go shopping.

“Welcome to Tragically Just Coffee, the wretched café where books aren’t also for sale,” says the barista. “Would you like to buy one of our dumb, book-less coffees?”

Buy a coffee.

Coffee is the black madness juice Drink it to go nuts with power Your brain will pop loose As you stay awake for hour after hour Espresso tastes like sour dirts Like mud from a witch’s trash heap If I don’t drink it, my head hurts And I can peacefully fall asleep

Coffee, espresso, cappuccino, me oh my I will drink that sludge until it fills me I’m going to gulp coffee until I die Because my blood is entirely coffee

Which coffee drink do you want to buy, and pay $12 million for?

Coffee.

Espresso Delight.

Mega-Coffee.

Whole Milk With One Coffee Bean Floating In It.

Widow’s Lament.

Mocha Blaster.

Gentleman’s Frapp.

Espresso Tragedy.

Hyper-Coffee.

Mostly Coffee.

Pervert’s Frapp.

Just Latte Art Without Any Beverage Beneath The Foam.

The barista hands you a Mocha Blaster, a piping-hot coffee drink that is half-drip coffee, half-ice cream sundae fudge, with a pound of chocolate chips and unshelled

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