#and realizing my only older options (since Des is a middle aged man and the younger girls would have been a bit iffy)

[quibbs126]

I feel like in farming simulators/games where you can date and get married, we need more older bachelorettes

Because honestly, I tend to find them more interesting characters, and also I kind of want a change of pace from the young ones

[thepuckishrogue]

The Batboys in: “I’m late.” Take one.

A/n: Y’all ready for some cliches? No? Well too fucking bad because that’s what you’re getting lmao. This time around I’ve only got fills for Jaybird and Timmy-boy, but fear not--Dick and Older!Dami’s will be up sometime this week. For right now except these humble offerings, crafted in the thick of my sleep derivation... [This has since edited to match the AO3 version--my apologies to all who read that first, hella rough draft. Also! Part 2 is done now!]

Taglist [if you want in on some of this sweet, sweet tagging action just hit me up in an ask]: @aspiratinganxiety

Prompt: “I’m late.”

Presented For your consideration/entertainment:

Say the Word (Practice Makes Perfect) [Jason Todd x Reader]

Just because you weren’t ready didn’t mean that you didn’t want it...

You and Me Both, Babe [Tim Drake x Reader]

When you see an opportunity you take it. That’s one of the things he loves about you the most.

Say the Word (Practice Makes Perfect) [Jason Todd x Reader]

As you stare down at the single pink line on the tiny display your feelings are mixed.

On the one hand you’re hardly ready to raise a child, not when you still feel like a kid yourself most days, and that’s saying nothing of Jay’s chosen profession. Vigilantism is hardly conducive to home and hearth, after all. But despite knowing all of this you still feel… oddly crushed?

In the hours since your shaky murmur of “I’m late” was breathed into the crook of his neck, visions of little girls with inky ringlets and toddling boys with irises the color of a Caribbean tide had embedded themselves in your mind’s eye. With each minute that passed you allowed yourself to dream up a whole new life with Jason, one full of tiny giggles and toothless smiles and scabby knees. You saw your son seated aloft his broad shoulders, content and happy; your daughter on his knee as he read her his favorite Doctor Seuss book; you saw a future filled to bursting with things you’d never knew you wanted, knew you needed until that moment.

Hours to build up that new life in your head, and only two minutes to see it collapse around you.

“Is it weird that I’m a little disappointed?”

You finally tear your eyes away from the line, but you still can’t bring yourself to face the man that hovers behind you. “No,” you start after a few long seconds. “But it’s for the best… Right?”

You don’t know what Jay sees in your eyes when you finally meet his in the bathroom’s mirror, but you do know what you see in his—that same future that had shone so brief, but brilliant.

There’s a gentleness in his gaze, a fragility that leaves you choking on a sob. Before the first tears even fully form you’re being spun around and gathered up into his arms. Jason’s hands trail the length of your spine in long, lulling strokes even as you dig your nails into the muscles of his back and pull yourself flush against him. Your grip is firm bordering on bruising, but if it hurts him he doesn’t show it. He whispers words of comfort that echo in his chest, and reverberate through you. The feeling registers more than his voice, and while it’s calming in a way it still not enough.

“This is so stupid. Why am I crying? I’m not pregnant so I can’t even blame my hormones!” The sentences come between heaving breaths and gasping sobs.

“It’s not stupid,” he assures you, hands still working at soothing your quaking frame. “If you want a family with me honey, you say the word and I’ll give you one. But it’ll be on our terms, and not the result of a bad batch of birth control or a faulty Trojan.”

You laugh a bit at that, sniff loudly, then look up at him. You know you must be a sight—eyes and nose red and wet, face splotchy and puffy—but he still looks at you like you’re the most beautiful thing in the world. Your answering smile is a small thing that trembles a bit with the last dregs of your breakdown, but it’s there and it’s real and it’s hopeful. You don’t know when the pair of you will be ready for a family, if ever, but just knowing that the option is there enough for now.

Jay returns your smile as he wipes away the wetness on you cheeks with soft motions and gentle hands. In the face of such tenderness and care there’s only one thing to be said—“I love you.”

“I know,” he says, and there’s no cockiness behind the words, only confidence in what the two of you share. “And I love you too.”

“That’s good to hear, especially after what I just did to your shirt.”

“What? You mean the scratching? Don’t get me wrong, you’ve got a hell of a grip babe, but it’s not nearly enough to do any real damage.”

“No, not that—but also sorry for that.”

“No harm, no foul, doll. Hey, that rhymed! Aww, come on now! Don’t roll your eyes baby—respect my flow.”

“Whatever,” you say around a laugh as you push away from him. “Go get some real bars and change your shirt.”

“Pssh. Please woman, my bars and my shirt are both tight as hell.” He pulls at the compression material then and releases it; how he manages to avoid pinching himself in the process is a mystery, but the audible pop of it snapping back in place leaves you with the impression that the action has the potential to be just as painful.

“Tight or not, I’m pretty sure that the Absorbent Tip TM was pressing into your back for a while there sooo... yeah. You might want to take care of that.”

It takes a second for him to realize what that means, but once he does…The look of mild disgust that flashes across his face leaves you snickering even as you apologize.

“You could at least pretend to feel bad about this, you know,” he says with a shake of his head. “But hell babe, if you wanted me to lose the shirt all you had to do was ask.”

The laughter dies on your lips as he reaches behind himself to grab a handful of the black tee; a tug and what has to be an unnecessary amount of flexing sees the clingy scrap of material removed and tossed away. Your eyes narrow as you take in your stupid, sexy, smirking, cocky cock of a boyfriend, but there’s no denying the wicked gleam in his gaze or the way it affects you.

You might not be ready to make a baby right at this very moment, but there’s nothing wrong with a little practice…

You and Me Both, Babe [Tim Drake x Reader]

Your home smells amazing right now.

The warm, hardy scent of fresh baked bread is cut through by the tang of herbs simmering in a tomato-based sauce. The meatballs—recipe compliments of Alfred—adds a richness to it all, while the lemon rinds that’re left over from the vinaigrette you’d whipped up earlier adds a nice, citrus-y note that, while not readily identifiable, does help to lighten the dense canopy of the more cloying aromas.

Though it smells divine, the spread is far from elaborate. Spaghetti and meatballs, breadsticks, and salad—hardly the meal one would expect the wife of the heir to the Wayne Enterprises throne to prepare for dinner, but then again one would hardly expect you to cook for yourself at all.

Driven by paranoia and practicality in mostly equal measure, both you and Tim decided against hiring someone to help around the house. Paranoia because, even if the dangers of his night job could be ignored, there's still a certain amount of caution to be exercised just from bearing the family name; practicality because, despite the square footage, your high rise apartment's easily maintained by the two of you. Keeping yourselves fed is a bit trickier given your schedules, but between Alfred occasionally dropping off pre-made meals (with heating instructions simple enough that even your husband in his base, half-sleep state can follow) and honing the magical skill that is meal prepping (this too is a gift imparted by the aging man, bless him) you have a solid, home-cooked meal at least four days out of the week.

Your phone chirps an alarm that tells you it’s time to pull the pasta from the heat; after a quick drain it’s tossed with the red sauce and meatballs before being transferred to a serving dish. The whole of the meal is then moved to the dining table and then you’re hurrying off to the other end of the flat to change (because while eau de marinara might work for spaghetti it does very little for you).

As with the meal, there’s nothing fancy to be found in your chosen attire. The sweater you slip on was actually Tim’s once upon a time—though after finding you puttering around his kitchen in nothing but the over-sized garment he had decided that it looked much better on you…

  “Keep it.”

You’d grown used to his ability to move about in virtual silence, but knowing what Tim was capable of didn’t leave you any better equipped to deal with it. Breathing in sharply, you whipped your head towards the man hard and fast enough that whiplash was a legitimate concern. You had fully intended to threaten him with a bell collar yet again, but the smile he gave you was so dopey, so damn lovesick that all the fight bled right out of you. Suddenly shy in the face his unabashed adoration, you quickly turned your attention back to the omelet you’d been assembling. A few seconds passed before you remembered the words that had startled you in the first place.

“Keep what?”

“The sweater,” he said, voice sounding from far nearer as he made his way towards you. A few long strides saw strong arms wrapping around your middle and lips at your ear. “Looks good on you.” The sentence was little more than a whisper, a breath of a thing that would’ve went unheard had he not been so close. His nose followed the curve of your ear upwards until he was able to press a lingering kiss to your temple.

Your breath caught and the rose dust that stained you cheeks deepened. The sweater. You’d honestly forgotten that you were wearing it.

You hadn’t felt like wresting yourself back into the restricting clothing you’d worn the night before, but walking around completely naked wasn’t an option you were willing to entertain either. Silly, given that he’d already seen you in naught but your skin, but still—‘leave something to the imagination’ and all that jazz. The thing was big and warm, almost too warm in the heated apartment, and still smelled like him. The V of the neckline and the sleeves both hung down far lower than what was necessary for your purposes; there was nothing to be done about the former, but the latter was quickly remedied with several cuffing rolls. Over the course of you washing, chopping, and whisking the various ingredients those cuffs had slowly loosened—more so on your dominate arm; annoying but expected—and the collar had drifted off to the left leaving the shoulder there on display. Having to constantly shrug the thing back into some semblance of order was annoying, but when a pair of warm lips pressed against the once again exposed skin.

Well.

Tim might’ve thought the sweater looked better on you, but you both agreed that it was at its best left in a careless heap on the floor.

  The memory is an old one, but it’s just as warm and vivid now as it was when you made it. It was the first time you had spent the night at his place, and though neither of you actively acknowledged it then, that was the day that you both knew you’d found the ever elusive one. Moments like that could never fall prey to the dulling touch of time.

The sleeves, so used to being cuffed after years of the action, roll into place effortlessly. Joggers are exchanged for a pair of jeans and then you’re swapping out your fuzzy socks for ones not covered in rogue marinara drips. You don’t bother with makeup though you do spare a few minutes to sort out your hair from the messy style you’d thrown it into before cooking. Satisfied with your appearance, you go to your purse and pull out the paper that confirmed what you already knew.

An absentee period combined with the three EPTs you’d taken yesterday was enough to convince you that your body did indeed have a new tenant, but much like your husband you liked redundancy so off to the clinic you went. Two samples later and Doctor Thomas was sending you on your way with a promise to put a rush on the blood analysis, and she’d kept her word. An hour after Tim had left this morning you were getting a fax full of medical jargon about hormone levels and percentages.

You still can’t make heads or tails of most of it, but the gist is clear—you’re going to be a mother. And Tim—your sweet, precious, adoring husband—is going to be a father.

Any trepidation you may have felt over the matter is instantly quelled by just the thought of him alone. Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne is the most loving, caring, reliable man you’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing, and cliché though it might be, you know that there’s nothing that you can’t face so long as you’re together.

You fold the paper over and tuck it into your back pocket, all the while smiling so hard that your cheeks actually begin to ache. A mom. I’m going to be a mom. The thought leaves you full of a joy that can’t be contained. It manifests itself in the bounce of your walk and the childlike swing of your arms as you head back to the dining room to ready the plates.

You want Tim as relaxed as possible when you give him the big news, not out of fear, but rather so he’ll have the mental clarity to properly process it. Though he does his best to shake it off during his commute, work has a tendency to follow him home; sometimes in the form of actual tasks that still need to be seen to, while others its complaints about the Board and their “–total lack of insight as to how the world actually works.” You have no problem with letting him blow off some steam, welcome it even, as it’s better than him falling back on his old habit of bottling everything up. You’re his sounding board, his anchor, a tether that will always pull him back to calmer waters. To this end you have many methods at your disposal, and at least several of them involve food.

Feeling kind of fancy, you decide to try to plate the pasta using that neat little trick that Alfred had showed you with the tongs and the spoon; it takes a few tries, but eventually you end up with two perfect mounds of spaghetti. Unfortunately this leaves no place for the meatballs except for around said mounds. You place them as artistically as you can, but it still ends up looking like something that could potentially summon the Flying Spaghetti Monster.

Eh well, I married a nerd; if anyone can appreciate it, it’d be him. The musing pulls a giggle from already smiling lips. 

The salad takes a lot less effort, though you do make a mental note to thank Jay again for linking you to those vinaigrette recipes. Habit has you reaching for wine glasses and a nice vintage, but then you remember the little bean growing inside of you and stop. You’ve heard it said that one glass of wine a day is actually acceptable, but you’re not so sure. 

Better safe than sorry, you reason as you fill them with water instead. Though it is something to look up. A fair bit of research is definitely in your future—well, Tim’s more so than yours. The man never braves any new territory without first arming himself to the teeth with every scrap of intel available to him, and you know that your pregnancy will be no different. 

With the table now fully set there’s nothing left to do but wait, and so you grab your phone and slump down in your seat. A quick time check tells you that Tim should be home any minute, but you’re too restless to sit idle. Needing something, anything, to save you from yourself you pull up a game on your phone and start swiping. The first few levels you tackle are defeated easily enough thanks to the power-ups you’ve been hording like some techno-centric millennial dragon, but once you run out you essentially hit a wall. A courtesy hour of unlimited lives means you get lost to the menial task, so much so that you don’t even realize Tim’s home until he shuffles into the room. 

“Hey sweets,” he says as he leans down to press a kiss against your forehead. “I’m late, I know, I’m sorry.” 

“Ten minutes is hardly ‘late’, love.” 

“Yeah, but still…” 

The exchange is as familiar as anything else in your relationship. Early on in your platonic days you had learned that Tim offering up his time to you was among the most significant displays of affection in his arsenal. Hardly surprising given that between the day job that is his necessity and the night gig that is his passion, there’s not much of it to be had that isn’t already accounted for. Free time was more often than not a concept for the man, not a reality, but he had made it more than clear that what little he had was yours if you’d have it. 

The moment his forehead leans heavy against yours you know you’re going to have to abandon your initial plan; he’s clearly world-weary and in need of some good news ASAP. Besides, you’ll never be able to forgive yourself if you allow a setup as prime as the one he just handed you to pass by. When you retell this story to your future child years from now—hell when you tell it to your family and friends over the next few days—this one-liner will be a distinct a point of quipping pride.

Really, you owe it to you all. 

Your lips curl upwards in anticipation of the sentence that will leave people both within and without the Wayne clan face-palming for years to come— 

“It’s okay, babe—I’m late too.” 

For his part Tim just blinks a few times in confusion, clearly ignorant of the excellence he’d just bore witness to. With his brows draw inwards and a slight pout on his lips he’s pretty much the human equivalent of a puppy; the curiosity that tints the sapphires that search your face for clarity does nothing to dissuade the image. The wide smile you give him is returned in kind, though the arching of a brow is a silent call for an explanation; when all the reply he gets is the folded sheet the second rises to join the first. He gives you an expectant look then, but you just grin and a nod towards the paper in his hand. His gaze is probing as he pulls the thing back to size without breaking eye contact, but there’s nothing of substance to be found in the mirth that dances in your eyes.

“Okay then,” he says on a laughter laced sigh. “I guess I’ll actually have to read this—wait. What is all this? Lab workups… Results…” His mumbles become near silent as he works his way down the page. “Human chorionic gonadotropin levels—hCG, hCG… That’s the pregnancy hormone. And at 7,480 units per milliliter…” 

He looks up at you, eyes suddenly glassy as he breathes out your name. “Baby, sweetheart—are you– I mean you have to be… Right?” 

You nod hard, not trusting your voice not to crack under the weight of your emotions. Faster than you can process the motion you’re being gathered up and squeezed tight. A flurry of Oh my god’s and declarations of love pour out of him as readily as his tears and your replies ring out in kind. You stay wrapped around each other for several long minutes before Tim finally pulls away enough to look at you. That same dopey, lovesick smile that had brought you to this place in your lives is back as he leans his forehead against yours again.

“We’re going to be parents.” His voice is awestruck in that way that says he can’t believe he’s managed to land on the right side of luck yet again.

“Correction: we’re going awesome parents. Way better than all those scrubs that let their kids run around terrorizing the general populace.” 

He laughs even as he shudders. “That’s for damn sure. God, there’s so much to do. How many weeks along are you? For that matter how long have you known? Are you feeling okay? I’m pretty sure you haven’t been experiencing morning sickness, unless you’ve been hiding it from me—you haven’t right? We’re in this together, sweetheart, so–”

You pull him in for a proper kiss then, knowing it’s the only way to stop the deluge of worries and words. He’s resistant at first, still trying to speak even with your lips smushed together, but kneading fingers at his nape sees that nonsense meeting a quick end. It takes a few long moments, but under your expert touch the tension has no choice but to drain away. 

“We got this babe. Yeah?” It comes out as a question, but your expression says that you won’t accept any answer other than a solid yes. 

“Yeah. We do,” he agrees, nod resolute and voice steady. “So Missus Wayne, what now?” 

“Now, we eat, Mister Wayne. Spaghetti Monster summoning charms wait for no man, or expecting mother for that matter.”

[gimmeyoon]

You’ve Become My Favorite Sin [6]

Alternatively Titled: Heavenly Way to Die

Pairing: Jungkook x Male OC | Angel!Jimin x femdemon!reader

Ratings/Warnings: M for Mature. Cursing, drinking, smut (oral), and Homophobic slurs. Main character death. Also, contains religious themes. 

Word Count: 5.9 k

A/N: Most of this chapter is backstory for Jungkook’s character, but the end does switch back to the present, so you could read this without the first 5 parts but the end will be very confusing. Also, I wanted to do male reader, but I thought that having two people named _____ might be confusing, so please feel free to get rid of Henry and replace it with your name if you’re a male reader looking for some love thank you thats all

Songs: Mercy / Gatekeeper by Hayley Kiyoko, Sanctify by Years & Years, and What A Heavenly Way to Die by Troye Sivan

Summary: When Jimin started questioning his place in the world as an angel, you took it upon yourself to show him the darker side of life. Suddenly, falling from grace doesn’t seem so bad.

Previous | Next

Paris, France: 1947

     Jungkook wasn’t exactly sure how he had ended up at this bar. Earlier in the night his intention had been to get soused and judging by the way he felt, he had reached that goal. 

     The night had gotten off to a rough start, him almost immediately having to deal with some fat-head American whose mission in life must be to attack any and all Japanese men who he runs into. Jungkook was used to this, he had been dealing with it for years now, so he silently pulled his Korean American identification card out of his wallet and presented it with his right hand to the man. His left hand presented the man his middle finger. 

     The fat-head apologized for his slur while Jungkook made note of his uniform. Jungkook still maintained his silence as he pulled his dog tags out from underneath his shirt.

     “Wow I’m an ass,” the fat-head said. “What branch?”

     “Army,” Jungkook replied as he turned back to his drink. “Would have done national guard, but they found out I could speak Japanese, so they didn’t give me a choice.”

     “I’m army as well. National guard is for pussies anyways.”

     “My older brother was national guard, so I would rethink that.”

     “Shit, I’m sorry. Listen man, me and some GIs are having some drinks over here, and you’re welcome to join us.”

      Jungkook looked over to where he pointed and weighed his options. On one hand, he was perfectly content drinking alone until he couldn’t see straight. On the other, he had to admit this was becoming a depressing routine. So, he decided to join them.

     Jungkook never much liked being in the military. He and his brother had enlisted with the only other Korean American in their neighborhood. He had told them about this thing called the Tiger Brigade, a Los Angeles Korean Reserve, and they figured it was a good enough way to fulfill their draft requirement with the least risk to their life. The plan worked for everyone but Jungkook, who probably should have lied when they asked if he knew Japanese. Nevertheless, he passed the test and they shipped him to the Pacific. Sometimes when he laid in bed hoping for sleep to overtake him, he wished that he hadn’t let his grandmother teach him Japanese. He wished that he had ignored her like his brother. 

     But he didn’t. 

     “Did you develop a soul while you were gone, Fitz?” one of the GIs sitting at the table greeted as Jungkook and apparently Fitz approached the table.

     “Turns out, he’s Korean,” Fitz shrugged as he slid into the booth. “and a GI like us.”

     Jungkook slid into the booth after Fitz, as the other GIs ragged on their friend. He began to nervously stroke the rabbit’s foot that he kept clipped to his belt loop. His mom had given him it before he had left for the Pacific and it calmed his nerves.

     From what Jungkook could gather, he and Fitz were the only two of the group that had served in the Pacific leg of the war. As was to be expected in Paris, most of these men had served in the European tour.

     “I heard they gave those cards out, but I’ve never seen one,” Fitz said. “Anyways, I’d like to make a toast to our new friend.” Fitz smiled as he turned to Jungkook. “Success to our army, success to our fleet, may our foes be compelled to bow down at our feet. Here’s to – uh,” Fitz chuckled. “What’s your name?”

     “You can call me Kook.”

     “Kook,” Fitz laughed. “Here’s to Kook, here’s to French women, may these girls be compelled to let him come in ‘em.”

     The table broke out into howling laughter as they raised their glasses. 

     As far as Kook could tell that was hours ago. Now Kook was here with one of the GIs, who he thinks might be called Lazy Eye but there was also a high probability that Jungkook had called him that himself in his head, because he did in fact have a lazy eye. He dare not actually call the guy that just in case it was a horrible insult he had devised on his own time. 

     There were three things that had struck Jungkook odd about this bar: 

 They had asked him for his age when he entered, which was odd because there was no drinking age as far as he knew, and if there was one, he was well over it.

 Jungkook had not seen a girl enter this establishment the entire time he had been here.

 Several men had bought him drinks since he had sat down.

    Lazy Eye had not taken kindly to the older men approaching them and buying Jungkook drinks, which had brought the latter back to his earlier confusion. How had he gotten here?

     “Where are we?” Jungkook asked as he leaned over to Lazy Eye.

     “Saint-Germain-des-Prés.”

     Jungkook raised an eyebrow. Lazy eye was dumb as well it seemed. “The bar not the quarter.”

     “The bar doesn’t have a name.”

     “Fuck off,” Jungkook sighed. “Did you bring me here to kill me?”

     Lazy Eye laughed. “This place doesn’t have a name because you can’t tell the cops where you were last night if it doesn’t have a name.”

     “Sorry, I didn’t realize we drank our way back to America in the 1920s.” Jungkook said as he finished off his whiskey. He had to fight the urge to see if any of those old guys were coming back to buy him another drink. It was weird, but he couldn’t say he minded how full his wallet felt.

     “You want another,” Lazy Eye asked, as if reading his mind.

     “Don’t worry about it, buddy. We should at least see if there’s any more pennies from heaven.” 

     “Oh, so, you’re looking for a papa-gâteau.”

     Jungkook furrowed his brow as he tried to piece together the little bit of French he knew. “Dad cake?”

     “I believe it translates to sugar daddy.”

     “Oh fuck, this is a gay bar.”

     Lazy Eye laughed as Jungkook ran his hands over his face. The latter stood up quickly and went to leave, when Lazy Eye reached out to grab his wrist.

     “You are gay, right?”

     “Why the fuck would you think I’m a fag like you,” Jungkook spat back.

     “Not in here, asshole,” Lazy Eye stood up and looked Jungkook square in the eyes. “Just to be clear, you sure as hell didn’t mind taking drinks from 3 different guys in here, so I wouldn’t act like the thought completely disgusts you.” Lazy eye looked him up and down. “Get the fuck out of here.”

     Jungkook stood stunned as Lazy Eye sat down. He wasn’t a fighter and as he looked around the bar, it because clear that his explosion had not gone unnoticed. Grabbing his jacket, Jungkook quickly exited the building and walked down the street. Fuck if he knew how to get home.

     “Well if it isn’t my favorite souse,” Henry smiled as he opened the door to Jungkook who had forgotten his keys in their apartment for the second time that week.

    “Sorry Henry,” Jungkook slurred as he stumbled past his best friend. After the incident at the not named bar, the drinks had hit him much harder than he had anticipated. 

     “Thought you might be on active duty tonight,” Henry said, ignoring Jungkook’s apology. “Couldn’t bear to be without me.”

     Jungkook, who had found refuge on their couch at this point, grabbed one of the pillows and threw it at his friend.

     “Don’t take your lack of sex out on Alma’s pillows,” Henry smiled as he walked over to Jungkook and placed the pillow back on the couch.

     “Alma can – she can-”

     “Yeah, yeah, you don’t like Alma.” Henry sat down beside Jungkook on the couch. The two friends say in comfortable silence, as Jungkook took deep breaths to regain his composure.

     Jungkook had come to Paris to be with Henry. The two men had grown up together, living on the same street in San Francisco. They had been best friends since the first time Henry choose Jungkook to be on his team in baseball. It had been the right choice, as Jungkook was naturally athletic, but the other kids often didn’t pick him because he was Korean. Henry picked him first. 

     After the European leg of the war Ended, Henry wrote to Jungkook and told him that he should find his way to Paris after he beat the Japanese. He had said there were three French girls to every man in Paris and they had a penchant for the exotic. Jungkook had informed Henry that he didn’t like being called exotic, but he did like girls, so he might just take him up on that offer. Two years later and here they were sitting on the couch that Henry’s mom had bought them with the pillows Alma had bought when she visited.

     Alma lived on their street growing up as well, and Henry had always been in love with her. Alma had always been in love with other men, which was why Jungkook was not fond of her. He had watched Henry be a lovesick puppy about her for 14 years now, and it had only gotten more depressing. 

     “Speaking of Alma,” Henry said, breaking the silence. “She wrote again.”

     Jungkook sighed. “She’s bad news, Hen.”

     Henry shook his head. “She broke up with that asshole, Mel.”

     “Sure, and next week she’ll be with a new asshole.”

     “She broke you with him three months ago,” Henry smiled as he looked down at his hands. “She said she loves me and wants me to come home. That she should have made me come back with her last time she visited.”

     “She loves you?” Jungkook scoffed as he stood up from the couch. “You’re going to get on a plane for that floozy and she’s going to be back together with Mel by the time you set foot in California.”

    “Don’t be like this.”

     “Like what, your best friend? Would you prefer it if I lied to you and let you get on that plane like a fat-head.”

     “If you were my best friend, then you would know how badly I have wanted this for my entire life,” Henry said as he stood up.

     “Oh, get bent! I’ve watched you pine after Alma since I became your friend and she hasn’t been interested in you once. Now she loves you? Were you doing dope while I was gone?”

     “Can’t you just be happy for me?”

     “I would be more than happy to watch you marry a nice French girl, maybe settle down in the countryside, have some French speaking brats, but going back to San Francisco will be the biggest mistake of your life.” 

     “No, the biggest mistake of my life was inviting you to live with me.”

     Jungkook recoiled as if he had been hit. Henry sighed before reaching out to him, seeming to instantly regret his words, but Jungkook pulled away from his friend.

     “As stated, previously, get bent,” Jungkook said as he pushed past his best friend to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him. He quickly surveyed the room for something to break and settled on pushing the books off of the top his dresser. They fell to the floor with a thud and Jungkook joined them there. He pulled his knees to his chest, took the rabbit’s foot off his belt loop, and gripped it tightly in his hand. He tried to stop the tears that were forming in the corner of his eyes from falling. If he hadn’t been drinking, maybe he would have known that Henry only said that because he was angry, but it didn’t feel that way. It felt like years of knowing that Henry was too good of a friend to him were finally culminating in the realization that he had never been his friend at all.

    There was a light knock at the door, but Jungkook didn’t answer. He knew who it was, and if he knew Henry it wouldn’t matter either way. The door was going to be opened.

     “I’m sorry,” said Henry as the door creaked open. “I didn’t mean that. You’re my brother and I love you.”

     Jungkook nodded his head but didn’t turn to face Henry. His friend walked into the room and stood in front of Jungkook, causing the latter to bury his face in his knees. He felt like a child, but he also couldn’t face Henry looking so upset.

     “I’ll wait a little while, make her write a few more letters before I hop on a plane, okay? Will that make you feel better about this whole thing.”

     No, but Jungkook didn’t want this interaction to go on any longer. In fact, if he had it his way he would be able to magically make a bottle of whiskey appear in his hands. That would be his dream ending to this interaction.

     “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

     “I know, and I respect you for that. You’re a good friend, always have been,” Henry nudged Jungkook’s foot with his own, causing the latter to look up at him. Jungkook was greeted with a smile.

     “Okay,” Jungkook sighed.

      Jungkook was absolutely sure how he ended up in the no name bar this time. Henry had gotten another letter from Alma and he had wanted to read it verbatim to him. So Jungkook listened and he counted each word that he was absolutely certain was a lie and decided that he would do a shot for each one. He was four shots in at this point and had been put on hold for a short period of time by the bartender. 

     The no name bar was probably a mistake, but he figured that he could convince some of the older men to buy some of the shots he had made a personal promise to down tonight and that would make his wallet very happen. He was less happy to note that he had been thinking about the establishment since his fat-headed exit last time. He felt bad about how he treated Lazy Eye. 

     So, there he sat on the bar stool in a gay bar with no name because such an establishment was not always welcome. It had to be private, like the army Jungkook realized. Otherwise it was a crime. 

     “Silver over there wanted me to give this to you.”

     Jungkook looked up and was surprised to see a woman in front of him. He quickly looked up and down the bar for Hal, the bartended that had been serving him drinks all night. When Hal was not found, he returned to the women in front of him.

     “You’re new,” he said, as he took the shot from her. He threw the liquid down his throat before passing the small glass back to her

     “So are you.”

     “How do you know that?”

     She smiled, and there was something in her smile that made Jungkook feel uneasy. There was more to it, but he couldn’t tell what it was. 

     “Well, because you’re wrong. I’m not new. I love this place.”

     Jungkook nodded his head, mostly hoping for this conversation to be over. There was something about this woman that made him both want to look away and also never look at anything else ever again. Whatever it was made him uncomfortable and would be more than enough reason to never come back here again.

     “You love him,” she said, causing Jungkook’s brow to furrow.

     “Silver? I don’t even know him, and he’s not really my type.”

     “That’s true. Your type is your age, from San Francisco, air force pilot, madly in love with a girl you absolutely hate, and named Henry.”

     Jungkook’s draw nearly dropped open as he stared at the women. “Seutokeo,” he barely whispered.

     The woman smiled as she leaned in closer to Jungkook. “Agma,” she returned in a whisper. 

     Jungkook recoiled at her words. Demon. This was not happening. Clearly, he had too much to drink and he was hallucinating now.

     “_____, nice to meet you, Jungkook.”

     “How the fuck do you know all of this?”

     “I just told you I was a demon, so I can only assume you are asking for a more detailed description. Very well, my dogs stay posted in this lovely establishment, and you caused quite a scene, so they followed you home. It was compelling.”

     “You’re a crazy person,” Jungkook said as he stood up from his seat. He quickly turned towards the door but when he looked up at it, she was already there, greeting him with that same terrifying smile. He looked back at the bar in disbelief and when he turned back, she was in front of him. He recoiled and had it not been for her hand on his arm he surely would have fallen to the floor.

     “Let’s take a walk, okay?”

     Jungkook found himself in the cool Parisian night before he could object, and he began to weigh his choices. If she was a demon, there was one place he knew she couldn’t go, he just needed to keep his eyes out for a church and be ready to run once he got close enough. Easy.

     “You’re in love with your best friend, and I want to help you.”

     “I am not in love with my best friend,” Jungkook spat.

     “But you are. You love him so much but you can’t say anything because the big guy made it so everyone would hate you for it.” She pointed up to the sky as she said this and Jungkook stupidly followed her finger. He quickly looked away once he realized her point.

     “I’m not gay. I like girls.”

     She shook her head. “You don’t have to be straight with me, Jungkook. I’m a huge fan of yours.”

     Jungkook snorted in response. “A big fan of me? Hell, I didn’t know I was with a fan, I would have offered to sign something for you.”

     “How about you sign away your soul?” She winked. “You promise me your soul and I’ll make Henry fall in love with you.”

     “How many times do I have to tell you I-”

     “Listen,” she interrupted as she stopped walking. “You can lie to me until you’re blue in the face, but you are in love with him.”

     Jungkook desperately wanted them to start walking again so he could keep looking for a church. He pulled away from her lightly to try and get the show on the road, but she pulled back harder, making him stay with her. Jungkook was certain of one thing, this was bad, and he was not getting out of it.

     “You want him, and I want you to have him. Falling in love with you will save him,” she said. “He won’t go back to California, he’ll stay right here with you and be crazy happy about it.”

     Her last point piqued Jungkook’s interest. If he was being honest, there was this part of him that he had shoved down when he was about 15-years-old. He had been playing football with the neighborhood kids and he was just about to make a touchdown when he got knocked aside. He landed on his back and when looked up Henry was smiling down at him. 

     Gotcha, Kook, was all he said in response, but Jungkook had thought about those words for weeks. He had felt something then that when he was home alone hours later, he felt ashamed for. Something that threatened to bubble up any time he was with Henry after that. Something that made his skin rise when Henry walked around half-naked in their apartment. Something that made him hate Alma, because she was going to get him in the end, when Jungkook knew who really deserved him. Who would do anything for him.

     “Let’s say you’re right-”

     “I am.”

     “what happens to me. I mean, what does selling my soul mean.”

     A small smile danced at her lips. “I need a right-hand man, and you’re the guy I want. You spend the rest of your life with Henry and then you spend it with me, running my dominion as my principality. It’s a win-win.”

      Jungkook wanted to pretend that he needed time to think it over, but the moment she had promised that he would stay in Paris and forget about Alma he had been sold. Finally, Henry would be free of her, they would be free of her.

     “Okay.”

     “Fantastic,” she reached down and pulled the rabbits foot off of Jungkook’s belt loop. “I’ll be needing this, and you’ll be needing some paper work.”

     Jungkook hesitated as he stood outside of his and Henry’s apartment. _____ had left him long ago with the promise that her magic worked immediately.  However, Jungkook’s brain wasn’t working as quickly. He was terrified because this meant he was giving into every thought, every feeling he hadn’t let himself have for close to ten years. He knew what he always knew; giving into this meant no going back. Stepping into that apartment would change everything and right now he wanted to be the same Jungkook who only liked girls for just a few moments more. The Jungkook that stood on the other side of that door was confusing and new and scary and he wasn’t ready for that yet.

    Then again, he wasn’t sure he would ever be ready for that.

    Gripping the door handle with his shaking hand, Jungkook slowly opened the door and entered his new life.

     Henry was sleeping on the couch and there was a pang in Jungkook’s heart at the sight. Turns out, his new life wasn’t waiting immediately on the other side because this was normal. His friend stirred as Jungkook shut the door and the latter worried that he had awoken him.

    “I tried to stay up,” Henry said, confirming Jungkook’s concerns. “but you’re always out so late.”

     “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

     Henry chuckled, his tone deep with sleep, and opened his eyes slightly. “I’m glad you did. I wanted to talk to you about something.”

    “Oh?” Jungkook feigned ignorance as he walked further into the apartment and closer to Henry.

     “Alma wrote today,”

     Jungkook nodded his head. This was the part he had been most excited about. The moment when Henry said that he no longer cared what she thought.

     “She’s coming to visit again.”

     “What. The. Fuck.” Jungkook held his head in his hands as he tried to wrap his mind around what was happening. He had been duped. “I can’t believe I sold my soul to a demon for this shit. I really let myself unearth all of the horrible feelings I have for you, damned myself for eternity, and you have the audacity to still be in love with her, because I got tricked by a demon.”

     “Jungkook, are you okay? You’re not making any sense.” Henry stood up from his spot on the couch, any tiredness that may have been present in his eyes now replaced by concern. “Please, take a seat, you’ve probably had too much to drink again.”

     “I’m in love with you, you fat-head! I know it’s wrong and I know I shouldn’t, but I am in love with you and the fact that you would be with someone like her, someone so beneath you, makes me want to die,” Jungkook pulled his arm away from Henry as he began pacing around the living room. “So I did just that, I damned myself for eternity so I could finally be happy on this god-forsaken Earth and for once in my pitiful life feel like loving you was the right thing to do, and you tell me Alma is coming here and the next thing I know you’re back in California and I continue to be sad and alone, fucking girls that I’ll never love because I love you.”

     “Jungkook,”

     “What?”

     Henry jumped at Jungkook’s words and the latter realized he was still shouting. He put his hands out to show that he was sorry and calming down.

     “You love me?”

     Jungkook snorted as he looked down at his feet. It was probably too late to turn back now. “Oh, you heard that? You heard me screaming that I love you?” He looked up at Henry. “Is it too late to say that was all a joke?”

     “You’re a fat-head, you know that?” Henry smiled as he walked to Jungkook.

     “Or maybe I’m working on some lines for a play? Or what about if I sa-” Jungkook’s words died on the tip of his tongue as Henry reached up and placed his hands on either side of Jungkook’s face. He hesitated for only a moment before pressing his lips against Jungkook’s. 

     Jungkook was stunned, having been so sure that he had been tricked by the demon, but as Henry’s warm body pressed deeper into his own, he finally realized that this was really happening, and he kissed the man he loved back. Jungkook had always thought that giving into his desire for Henry would make him feel heavy with shame, but he had never felt lighter in his life. It was as if the room was no longer around them and the world no longer existed. It was just him and Henry as he had always wanted it.

     Jungkook deepened the kiss, the longing in his chest growing stronger. He had wanted Henry for so long and there was a part of his brain that told him they had plenty of time and that everything could wait. The other part was tired of waiting and that was the part he decided to listen to. He pressed his hardening cock into Henry’s thigh, causing the latter to smile into their kiss. Henry pulled back and smirked at Jungkook before pulling the latter back into his room. The next few moments were a flurry in Jungkook’s mind as he tried to control his rapidly beating heart. He had been wrong earlier when he had said that everything was going to change when he entered the apartment. Everything was going to change now. Henry was the first person to remove his shirt, Jungkook was sure of that, because he had pulled Henry in for another kiss once he realized that he could finally do that whenever Henry was half-naked around the apartment.

     “I want you,” Henry said as they broke away from the kiss, and that was when Jungkook’s shirt came off. The rest of their clothes came off quickly and Jungkook did his best to maintain his composure when Henry dropped to his knees in front of him. Wrapping his fingers around Jungkook’s hardened member, Henry smiled before licking languidly at the tip of his cock. Jungkook hissed at the contact and instinctively wound his fingers into Henry’s hair pulling him closer to where he wanted him. Henry wrapped his lips around Jungkook’s cock and began moving slowly up and down his length. 

      Jungkook was embarrassed by how quickly he felt his high approaching, but he wasn’t done with Henry yet. He had been waiting so long that this couldn’t be the end. He pulled lightly at Henry’s hair, but he did not let up. Instead he swatted at Jungkook’s hand and gripped tightly at his thigh. Jungkook swore under his breath and did his best to hold on.

     He looked up at the ceiling, because looking down at Henry while he took Jungkook’s dick into his mouth so well and so happily, was too much for him to handle while his ego refused to let him cum. 

     “Fuck,” Jungkook looked back down at Henry and the latter’s eyes looked back at him. “You’re amazing, I can’t hold on any longer.”

     Henry moaned around Jungkook’s length, causing a slew of obscenities to leave Jungkook’s mouth as he came. Henry continued his pace as he milked Jungkook for all he had and pulled away once Jungkook’s orgasm had finished. Jungkook lazily smiled at Henry as he stood up from his spot.

     “I love you,” he whispered, as Henry wrapped his arms around his neck.

     “I love you too, Kook. Always have.”

     Jungkook rolled over in his bed and reached out for Henry, only to find that he wasn’t there. Jungkook’s eyes quickly shot open as he searched the room for his boyfriend. The had been taking turns sleeping in each other’s room since that night months ago, and he hadn’t woken up without Henry in a long time. Even when Henry had work early in the morning, he made sure to wake Jungkook up with a kiss before leaving. 

     Utterly confused and slightly worried, Jungkook got out of bed and walked into the living room. He searched the entire apartment for Henry, but he wasn’t there. Looking at the calendar that hung-over Henry’s desk, confirmed that he didn’t work early today. He should be here. Jungkook walked back to his room to put some clothes on his naked body. As he cleaned up the remnants of last night, he tried to remember if Henry had said anything about an errand he needed to run, or a friend he was going to see. Jungkook couldn’t think of anything. As he finished making the bed, the door to the apartment opened and closed, allaying Jungkook’s fears. Whatever Henry needed to do, he was back now, and everything was okay.

     “I woke up and you weren’t here,” Jungkook said as he walked into the living room.

     Henry looked up at him and offered him a small smile, as he shrugged his jacket off. “Sorry, Kook, I just had something I forgot I needed to do.”

     “It’s okay, you just owe me tonight,” Jungkook teased as he wrapped his arms around Henry’s waist and pulled him in for a kiss.

     Henry offered him another small smile when he pulled back and he quickly moved out of Jungkook’s embrace. The interaction felt off to Jungkook, but he decided not to bring it up. He didn’t want to seem clingy and it was probably nothing.

     “Did you eat before your errand, I can make breakfast?”

     “Yeah, that’d be great, Kook. Thanks.”

      Jungkook made his way into the kitchen and he began to make breakfast, but something about Henry still felt off to him. In fact, it continued to feel off to him for the rest of the day. Jungkook had tried to talk to him about his errand while the ate breakfast, but Henry said it was nothing for him to worry about. Jungkook went into work and tried not to think about what Henry had been doing, but they had never had secrets between each other besides the fact that Jungkook had feelings for him. It wasn’t right that he was keeping something from him, and Jungkook was intent on making him tell the truth. However, all of that went out the door when Jungkook was greeted after work with a passionate kiss and hours of sex. The only thing that had felt normal all day was when Jungkook was rocking his hips into Henry’s, so he convinced himself that he was blowing everything out of proportion and that nothing was wrong.

     Henry cuddled into him as they fell asleep that night, and Jungkook was sure that everything was going to go back to normal tomorrow morning.

     That was until he opened his eyes. 

     “Fuck,” Henry cursed as Jungkook woke up. Henry was straddling Jungkook, and the latter was just about to make a joke about him not getting enough last night, when Henry’s hands flew to Jungkook’s neck.

     “Kinky,” Jungkook coughed out before he realized that Henry’s hands were getting tighter on his neck. 

     Too tight in fact. Jungkook reached up to try and pry Henry’s hands off of him, he was stronger than Henry, but the latter had gotten the element of surprise and Jungkook was losing momentum as his airway was cut off. 

     Henry looked crazy above him, his eyes angry but somehow also sad. As Jungkook tried to beg him to stop it almost looked like he regretted what he was doing, but his grip only got tighter.

      Jungkook batted at his lover’s hands as he tried to understand what was happening. He wanted to ask Henry why he was hurting him, he wanted to know what he had done, but mostly he wanted to know what that fucking errand was because he knew now that it had to have something to do with this. How had Henry gone from lying to this so quickly?

     Jungkook’s chest burned as he continued to struggle against Henry, but his attacks were weakening as it became harder and harder to breath. His head felt light like it had when Henry had first kissed him, and he wondered how they had gotten to this point. How could someone he loved so much hold him down and murder him?

     Jungkook never got the chance to ask as the world went dark around him.

    And then she was there smiling.

    “It’s good to see you again, Bunny. Sorry it had to end so soon.”

     Jimin gasped for air as he sat on the floor of _____’s office. He had started to panic once he saw the heavenly blade on the principalities desk and he had pressed the moon on his chest in fear as he waited for you to pull him back to your dominion. 

     “They’re going to kill you,” he finally said as he turned to face you. “They have a heavenly blade. I saw it. You have to send me back, before Jungkook’s meeting is over, but you need to know that you are not safe.”

     You looked at him with a neutral face that Jimin couldn’t read. “Anything else?”

     Jimin looked at you confused. “No that’s it.”

     “Just my impending erasure from existence then?”

     Jimin nodded his head a frown on his face.

     “Well if it’s just that,” you chuckled. “I guess I’ll see you in a little bit.”

     Jimin went to respond but the familiar feeling of dematerializing echoed throughout his body and soon enough he was back outside of Dragas’ office. Beside him stood one of Dragas’ demons who looked at him skeptically.

     “Didn’t want to take the stairs,” Jimin said with a humorless chuckle, looking down at his shoes. 

     Jungkook emerged with Dragas only moments later and he too seemed surprised to see Jimin. He nodded his head at the angel before motioning for him to follow him down the stairs.

     “Weren’t you supposed to be looking for something,” Jungkook hissed as they walked to the entrance.

     “I found something, and it’s really bad,” Jimin hissed back. “Somehow they got their hands on a Heavenly Blade.”

     Jungkook’s eyes widened as he turned to Jimin. He quickly grabbed the Angel’s arm and pulled him out of Dragas’ mansion. “How do you know that?” He asked once they had made it outside. “How do you even know what one looks like?”

     This was not good. Jimin quickly tried to think of a reason why he, a new demon, would have any idea what kind of weaponry angels used. “_____ showed me what they looked like just in case I saw anything like that while I was searching.”

     Jungkook raised an eyebrow at this but pushed no further. “If you’re right, we’re in way over our heads.”

     “I hope I’m wrong then. I really do.”

© gimmeyoon — all rights reserved. reposting, modifying, or translation onto other sites even with proper credit given is not permitted.

[aleksandrakv]

Social media in Adam Lambert’s life&career

It’s been so long since I’ve written anything longer than a tweet about Adam, but this stanning lethargy doesn’t reflect the level of my interest in the man. It may appear so, but can the lack of online presence automatically imply the lack of interest? In today’s state of affairs, when artists have carefully constructed and heavily monitored internet presence, when YouTube views are everything and the most powerful politicians seem to pay more attention to Twitter than their jobs, it would be understandable if it could. The www. has finally become literally that – a worldwide group chat, where presidents tweet, where actors, musicians and sportsmen keep vlogs on YouTube, writers publish their essays on Facebook, and everybody comments.

Adam Lambert has chosen not to do so. In an era when YouTube stars become singers who get Saturday Night Live slots where they whisper the lyrics into a microphone, and when the top trending video which garnered more than 30 million views in a day is one of a reality star announcing her pregnancy, Adam has taken a quiet step back in the past few years - and I together with him. I couldn’t help it. Twitter has lost its appeal to me ever since a constant possibility that Adam could see a particularly flaily or witty tweet was no longer an option – the magic of giddy anticipation was gone. For all intents and purposes, Adam has semi-abandoned Twitter and moved to Instagram; a Facebook affiliated app which I never took a liking to.

I was upset and a little resentful. I didn’t understand why. Not only did I have to suffer the cruel Atlantic Ocean between us, but now we were on different online apps, which is a fate way worse than living on different continents, according to cyber sense of geography. In my bitterness, I even had an occasional mean thought on the subject. Oh yeah, that’s because he can ogle hot guys there. What about MEEE? Or, even worse: it’s because of the filters. The man LOVES a good filter, the vain queen. Or, absolutely the worst: he wanted to escape the twitter crazies. It was the worst because I should have known that the crazies are everywhere. I was bitchy, mean, and so, so wrong. This essay is my redemption. The price I want to pay for my stupidity, because Adam does have a social media presence, albeit not as aggressive as I might like. There is a reason for that, which he has already given. I had read it before, but it flew right over me like a sparrow, equally tender and fragile, leaving my head unruffled and thoughtless as if nothing had happened.

Even on his preferred social network, Adam’s behavior is somewhat atypical, in a sense that he doesn’t hesitate to share less than perfect photos. Unfiltered, sweaty, in-your-face, flaking makeup photos of the realistic kind - a rare occurrence among the Hollywood hotties. But he is a geek like the rest of us. The anticipation of waiting for the first photos to appear when he has a concert is one of the best parts of being his fan. Adam is incredibly photogenic, but sometimes, those photos are low quality ones, taken by fans on their phones, from pretty unflattering angles. Adam somehow manages to look great in most of them, despite the low angles and the fact that great physical exertion makes everyone look awful. Being photographed in the middle of an adrenaline rush while singing from the top of your lungs for two hours is challenging. His facial features almost rearrange with strain, but Adam simply knows how to pose and is rarely caught off guard – a life’s tiny miracle.  I love those candid pictures. And Adam posts only the best of them.

It’s the professional photos where he shines the most. Those are usually true works of art, crispy sharp and simply stunning in their quality. I don’t think I’ve ever seen less than perfect professional photo of Adam. They capture the moments that would otherwise be missed and allow you to fully appreciate the visual side the concert. In videos, the focus is primarily on the sound and the movement, but if I had to choose which medium reflects Adam’s emotional state and journey during concerts best, I would choose photography. It’s a strange thing to say about a singer, but Adam has a very expressive face and body. It’s like their muteness and stillness don’t subtract, but add to the experience of Adam’s process of creation.

In addition to music photography, Adam posts everything and anything that’s important to him, seemingly with no rhyme or reason. His Instagram page is a mess, a potpourri of professional photos, fan photos, album covers, photos of his family, friends, his dog, travelling photos, fashion photos, and all that in uneven levels of quality which most posters would never allow themselves. Adam has it all, from professional HD quality to grainy and blurry shots taken by a phone. It’s a far cry from carefully coordinated, handpicked and posted after a thousandth try stylish representation of other serious posters. He doesn’t juice for a week before taking selfies. He doesn’t always filter. He doesn’t always look pretty. He isn’t always all mysterious and artistic. He’s sometimes such a goofball. He is definitely an undisciplined Instagram user. 

It’s a revealing fact. He deletes his posts sometimes, and I’m not sure if it’s the morning after self-filtering, or he gets the call. Social media can make or break a career nowadays. But on the other hand, you can be a successful artist without constant media presence – although it is a pretty rare occurrence. The only example coming to my mind is Frank Ocean. There are artists who have a modest number of followers and YouTube views, and yet they can and do fill up arenas, just as there are artists who have millions of followers and cannot have a decent tour. 

In Adam’s case, I feel like he is past making or breaking his career online. At this point, he doesn’t need a heavily moderated Instagram page or a vlogging channel to achieve anything - other than making me happier, that is. The fact that I would love if Adam was more present, by engaging with his fans more, or, in best case scenario, vlogging about his life and career (I would sell my firstborn for that), doesn’t mean much in grander scheme of things. Adam has allowed himself the luxury of doing what he wants, and his Instagram page reflects that in the clearest of ways. I am not saying he wouldn’t benefit from having 50 million followers on Twitter or Instagram, but, he just doesn’t have that. If he can’t get it from doing his job and being who he is, he will never get it anyway. He refuses to participate in the social media race. So, unlike many a budding YouTube star trying to make it in other fields by creating an ideal, unrealistic impression of themselves, with their uniform, heavily filtered, grayscale artsy photos, Adam’s multifarious posts do reveal a lot simply by not being what one would expect. He’s a rebel just for kicks there. 

Oh, there is some vanity there; he isn’t above it nor does he pretend to be. He smizes and pouts in many filtered photos and videos, enjoying his flawless skin provided by Instagram CEO Kevin Systrom’s filtering system, turning his head like this and like that like a Valley girl – but that’s just Adam playing with his toy. He has this proclivity for ridiculous behavior; that and the fact that he loves the ageless chibi art of Creative Sharka makes me sometimes think that he has entered a serious fear-of-getting-old phase. It would have been true if he posted such photos only, which he most definitely doesn’t.

Adam is a naturally beautiful man, why does he have to goof around like that? Well, because he is so much more than that. Because more than stunning good looks, he has a killer sense of humor. Because more than looking pretty and feeding his vanity, he loves having fun. He mocks himself, too. “I swear I didn't realize I was making full duck face” is his own comment on a truly astounding full duck face he made while trying to credit Valentino for a clothing item. He loves stand-up comedy. He’s watched the Amy Schumer Leather special, and the Ricky Gervais Humanity special, and posted about both shows. That’s how I know.

There’s a selfie which he took while Antinous was being tattooed on his torso – a particularly painful experience, according to him; hence the awkward facial expression. The photo is so ridiculous and unflattering that it immediately reminded me of the comical selfies which Ricky Gervais takes all the time, trying to look as ugly as possible in them, thus expressing his mockery on the worldwide mania of posting unrealistically perfect photos. Adam has a comedic streak a mile wide, and not only does it come out in concerts and movie roles such as his part of Eddie in the Rocky Horror Picture Show, but also in his Instagram page as well. Unlike Ricky, Adam just wants to laugh at himself. Yes, he sometimes looks ridiculous and weird - don’t we all? He’s no bullshitter, and never will be. 

Now would be a great moment to mention his Grandma June alter ego. So, Adam has decided it would be great to make himself look forty years older, name the character Grandma June and rant throughout several videos on many a current topic. Who? What? Adam, the most eligible gay bachelor of several times? Adam, the Zeus in a thong sex symbol for many? Unbelievable. Waves of discomfort could be felt throughout the shallower waters of the fandom. Was he just having fun with it? Was he mocking himself for overusing de-aging filters? Was he helping himself get over his own fear of aging by laughing at his own expense? Was it some kind of reverse psychology/psychotherapy via Snapchat filters? Was it to shock his fans who come to his page for hotness and beauty galore, only to find Grandma June blinking owlishly at them? The list is endless. It’s like he was saying, ‘yeah, I’m hot, but I’m also ridiculous, funny and a little bit on the crazy side.’ Who knows. It’s certainly less ridiculous than me putting words in his mouth. It is also very non-Hollywood of Adam, where ageism is rampant and the anti-aging industry flourishes, where kids start injecting botox as soon as they’re twenty and where a lot of people take faces they’re born with as a slight suggestion. Interesting topic.

We’re now traipsing deeper and deeper into Adam’s more hidden depths. This makes it sound like scrolling through his Instagram page is a voyage into the heart of darkness, the Apocalypse Now style; but it does feel adventurous after you parse through the regular job-related stuff. Such aside interests tell us a lot about him and his fascinations, like his love and respect for other artists. He is a true fan at heart, expressing himself unabashedly and passionately – so many pictures of Freddie, Bowie and George Michael, but also Goldfrapp, Demi, Lady Gaga, and all his musician friends. Sometimes, he puts the flailers in his own fandom to shame. I like that about him. I feel like it’s a level we can relate on. And I love that he doesn’t have cheap, tit-for-tat, I’ll-do-you-and-you-do-me mentality. When he says that he likes something, you better fucking believe that he does.

He also loves nature. He posts sceneries – the beloved Runyon Canyon, the Ibiza cruise, Mexico, Bali, Mykonos in Greece, Argentina, you name it - but, he will also post a photo of a single olive tree. The fandom speculated for three days about what it could possibly mean. He posted a video of a single butterfly flapping its wings, and a colony of bats, and a lonely gecko crawling up the wall and a mother duck and her ducklings swimming in the lake. Endless photos of Pharaoh don’t even count. Details from around him capture his attention in a way that he expresses his emotive, intuitive side by showing us the impact they have on him. In his private moments, he is a far cry from a wild rocker living his wild rock’n’roll life. He’s so much more than that. He’s a tree watcher. A butterfly watcher. A bird watcher. Life and observing life clearly excites him.

He also loves architecture. He will post pictures of streets and buildings, sculptures and monuments, from everywhere he goes, and he travels a lot. Someone else would probably spend all pre- and post-concert time in hibernation accumulating energy, but not Adam. He loves the bas-reliefs, ancient facades, the Greco-Roman culture, supporting columns and carvings of Venetian houses; but every now and then he will also post some strange things, like tombstones. He’s a traveler with a twist. When he goes somewhere new, he sometimes visits cemeteries.  He’s been to Boston Cemetery and Buenos Aires Cemetery. He posted a photo of the entrance to Jesus’ tomb from his visit to Jerusalem. No matter what B Hollywood horror movies are trying to tell us, cemeteries are never about being creepy or frightful -- they are like a library for the imagination. Wandering cemeteries around the globe, reading headstones, thinking about the lives of the people there, the mind wanders into a thousand stories. It can be therapeutic. But, who knows what Adam’s motives were. All I know is that he is more than just a traveler – he is also a spiritual explorer.

In everything he does, he rarely stays within the lines. This diversity tells us that Adam is a complex man before he is an artist, and even less than he is an artist, that he is a promoting artist. His self-promoting campaigns are there, but ever so subtle and discrete - nothing like the aggressive campaigning that has become obligatory nowadays. I’m not talking about the management or the label part in it, or whoever is in charge of his promotion; just Adam’s own role in it. A few tweets, a few Instagram posts, mostly just informative in nature, before a new release. Regarding concerts, a tweet before and after is a rarity. An occasional review. He will sometimes post great photos after concerts, though. I have no idea how to explain such behavior other than to say that he doesn’t want to do it, nor does he feel like he has to. Maybe he is of the ‘an artist should never reveal too much and keep a level of mystery’ persuasion. Maybe he believes the music will find its way to those who want to hear it. Or maybe he just finds it tacky, as I do, the ad nauseam self-promoting of certain artists. Who knows. I certainly wouldn’t find it tacky if Adam did it. We’ll see how Era 4 will roll out and if Adam will be more talkative then. The one explanation I personally find the most believable is that he is a well-mannered man who believes that you should let someone else praise you, and not your own mouth; an outsider, and not your own lips; but that’s because I tend to attribute Adam superhuman qualities. He can’t be that much of a gentleman, can he?

He is not very verbose in his Instagram captions either; most of them, that is. His posts are usually with very little or no comment from him. He tags the people in the photo, or he gives credit to the photographer – he is pretty diligent about it. On few unfortunate occasions when that didn’t happen, we had a mutiny among the photographers which ended with bruised egos on both sides.

So sparse are his comments, that when you do bump onto a few loquacious ones, you just know that it must be something of utter importance or that he feels strongly about. You don’t have to guess anything then, or draw unfortunate conclusions, which is a game his fans like to play and that Adam likes to engage us in by dropping random hints. No game here – his words are loud and crystal clear, concise and to the point, and apart from bringing my attention to the relevance of such particular posts, they serve to remind me what a great thinker and an amazing human being Adam is. Those words are always about love and equality.   

One of such glimpses into his more private, passionate side is certainly his love and appreciation for  Creative Sharka, a fan who makes digital paintings and chibi art of Adam and the moments in his career. He has posted her art several times and even met with her during his tour - such gratitude and appreciation of a fan really warms my heart. It tells me what I already knew: that he is such a fan himself, a great lover of everything that inspires him and open in his heart for the reciprocal love exchange between artists as the highest form of flattery. He’s had such situation in his career several times, on various levels, but this one with a fan feels truly rewarding.

Creative Sharka gives him her art, but it doesn’t have to be a tangible thing. One of the most revealing and emotional comments he wrote under a photo from one of his performances reveals so much. It is a photo whose focal point are the backs of two people, two guys, who are leaning against one another in a hug, their heads connected, and they are facing Adam singing on the stage in the background. They are in the forefront, their body language speaking of love; Adam is in the background, perhaps inspiring such connection. His comment says, “Really in luv w this photo. So sweet.”  I’ve never read Adam saying that about any picture, and it’s one of the amateur, fan ones, too – and all the more precious for that.  

But, does he always feel the love? Do we? Most of the times, I am sure that he does. But I have always imagined Adam as a highly emotional guy, which also means a great capacity for sadness, too, especially with so many reasons for it surrounding us. There is one, literally one sad comment that I have encountered during all these years. It’s under a photo of Frank the Robot’s head, taken before the show, with the top half of it waiting patiently to be connected with its bottom half by diligent Queen crew, so that Adam can ride it and spew obscenities into the audience from its shiny, metallic head. “Sad Clown,” is Adam’s caption. I don’t know if he felt bad for Frank at that moment, or the words are about Killer Queen, but there is a possibility  that the words are about Frank’s rider later on. Sometimes, he does have to hide his sadness and paint his smile on. Who doesn’t.

He truly belongs to one of the rarest of species – a beautiful man who becomes even more beautiful when he opens his mouth and speaks. Or sings. In the pre-Trump, pre-Brexit, pre-Vučić era, I used to take his words for granted. I believed everybody thought so, or almost everybody. I was spectacularly wrong. The bout of sadness that gripped me then is still not easing up. How can it? This Weltschmerz has affected everyone with a soul - Adam, too. Will our physical reality ever satisfy the demands of our minds and souls ever again? I believe so, as long as there are people like Adam, like Emma Gonzalez, like many others who are fighting for it. That is what hope sounds like. With rising urgency, Adam speaks up.

“Black lives matter. For all of u who totally miss the point of this movement, the GOAL is for all lives to matter equally. But as it stands, racism is preventing us from that ideal. We must fix the reality so we can grow toward hope.”

We must fix the reality… We really do, Adam. Faced with such thoughts, don’t all previous words about promotion and lack of internet presence sound frivolous? I am glad that this is how Adam feels. I am so proud of him for sharing his thoughts. 

When he posted a photo of Freddie, pointing out the hypocrisy of the ruling US political party using Freddie Mercury’s music, some people seemed to have an issue with that. This was Adam’s reply:

“I realize that there are many different schools of thought frequented by people following me on social media. EVERYONE is entitled to their opinions and beliefs. Including me. This is MY Instagram page where I share my experiences and feelings. If you don't agree with something, that's perfectly ok with me - but I'm not going to refrain from being me, and no one is forcing you to either.”

And refrained he has not. 

He’s spoken against the gun violence. 

He’s spoken about Orlando. About Paris. About all mass shootings. 

He’s also spoken at the Los Angeles Pride Resist March last year. Here are some of his words:

“I typically avoid publicly speaking about politics because of its divisiveness. People get real sensitive, and I ain’t trying to piss anybody off. But, this year things have gone way too far.

So I’m not speaking today about being a democrat vs. a republican. Today is about right vs. wrong. The current presidential administration has manipulated the country using fear and hate to gain power to divide us. Our differences are being used against us. And the shockwaves of this dangerous rhetoric have rippled throughout our community and beyond. And it fucking hurts. We’ve come way too far to stand by and watch our social progress be yanked backwards. It’s almost as if they’re going, ‘Eh, you’re different. You can’t sit with us.’ What the fuck is that? It’s childish and it needs to end now.

Our pride parade is usually an all out shit show of a party where we all dress up like crazy unicorns and prance around through the streets. Yeah! It’s a celebration of the progress we have made – our liberation, our freedom, our glitter. But this year, we are facing such dark forces that pride has taken on a deeper purpose. Protest. So today, we stand together in order to support anyone whose human rights are at risk. We resist homophobia. We resist transphobia. We resist misogyny. Bi-invisibility. We resist racism. Xenophobia. And we resist extremism, and anything else that helps promote hate. We stand defiant and will not be brainwashed. We refuse to be sucked into that kind of negativity.

But, I ask you not to fight hate with hate. We don’t want to be hypocrites. So how can we resist? I’ll tell you what I think:  with unity, with visibility, truth, inclusion, acceptance, and most importantly – love.”

Don’t his words boom loud? Read them and abide by them. Don’t scroll through or ignore them. 

Shame on those who think that Adam should only do his job and stop voicing his opinions and views. 

Shame on those who, blinded by his beauty, refer to him as a Ken doll. 

Shame on those who say that he is back in the closet. 

In his Love Letter to the LGBTQ community, which was published in Billboard magazine last year, he talks more about what his community means to him:

“Y'all are my true inspiration. You're life lines that have kept me grounded and thankful. All the LGBTQ musicians, dancers, drag queens, bar stars, club kids, DJ's, designers, actors, stylists, glam squads..... YOU are my circus family. It is because of all those years traipsing round our nocturnal playgrounds that I had any sense of how and why I wanted to stay the course; to rep for my queer family!

And now 8 years later, the LGBTQ community has come SO far. I see fellow artists AND civilians coming out with no apologies and no fucks given. Despite the current obstacles we face, I am blown away by our progress. We have come so far. My true fans share the same principles so we continue to welcome other alien weirdos into our family. Thank you ALL for inspiring and supporting my journey. I promise to keep doing the same for all of you.”

Should he speak more frequently? Adam has voiced his opinions time and again, but he won’t misuse the opportunity given to him. He has a sophisticated sense for not crossing the line between his art and his humanitarian fight. He  never pushes anything under anyone’s nose; not his art; not his fight. He never uses just causes as a self-promoting opportunity. 

This is all part of the reply to the question from the beginning about what the lack of social presence can mean. His social presence isn’t lacking, it is just of the unobtrusive kind. It’s all out there, only a few clicks away. Are we so used to the constant media shoveling content down our metaphorical throats that we can’t even register when something’s said only once?

Apparently, I am. Because I have already read Adam Lambert’s own explanation about deciding to moderate his social media presence and it hasn’t even made a blip on my radar at the time. I won’t tell you where his words are from, you can try to guess. It’s a direct quote. It says everything.  

How pathetic now seems the discussion about  flattering vs. less flattering photos? Don’t ask this man about the size of his gauges for a hundredth time and expect him to engage with his fans more. But Adam does, he does engage, for he isn’t a mean man and he answers the same trivial questions again and again. It’s perhaps a much better option than talking, I don’t know, about Weltschmerz. Sometimes, such discussions are better avoided, and not only that - he has already said what he wanted to say. It’s much more bearable to repeat the silly topics than the raw, emotional ones. The repetition hurts, and devalues the latter.  

It really is a journey, from Grandma June, to cultivating self-love and True Individuality; only not to the heart of darkness, but to the one of lightness. It’s all him, the philosopher and the comedian, the Frank’s head rider and the march speaker. Read his words. Don’t forget them, like I did. Laugh with him, but also think with him and be sad with him.

“True Individuality seems daunting in our age of social media popularity contests. Sometimes it’s terrifying to face your true, whole self, stripped of any pretense. The good, the bad, the cracks, and the scars. I am no stranger to the feeling of not liking myself. Once I get past my own body image issues, I realize that I sometimes also neglect my own spirit. Living in a world filled with so much hatred sometimes makes cultivating self-love a very difficult task. I have always struggled with this as I’m sure many of you have. My path is a kind of paradox in that I get to share my craft with the world, but also be willing to throw myself to the wolves. To dare to be different, but still wanting to be accepted. There is vast beauty to be found in life’s contradictions. This non-binary reality allows us to lead happy, expressive lives, and yet this very freedom comes with great risks. I’m not alone in this limbo. Through my art, I pledge to bring empathy and courage to anyone who has been made to feel unworthy or ashamed while daring to be themselves.”

***

~The sources for everything mentioned in the essay are Adam Lambert’s social media pages. I’ve decided against posting any links because I feel like this one reference is enough.

~No photos either,  since I mention too many of them  and this bloody thing is too long already. Just this one.

[fulldreamsahead]

Match Made in Heaven

I had a full-on black mirror length episode dream last night. I want to submit it as an episode because its so wild. We just watched all of Black Mirror last week so.... If you don’t know what it is, its a British show that’s on Netflix now where each season is just a collection of single stand alone story episodes that are twilight zone esque but are based around technology and its ramifications in the future. So here we go 

To paint the picture, I have no name. I have a 20-something tall lanky boy. I have a mess of dark hair that falls into my face annoyingly and dark circles under my eyes from lack of sleep. The lack of sleep is a combination of being caused by my rowdy group of friends that I have no idea why they keep me around and my own anxiety (see sentence one). I am painfully shy but I think they find my jokes hilarious which is why they force me out of my room all the time to go out with them. Whenever I need to be calmed down I throw myself into YouTube cooking channels. Something about someone talking to a blurry camera they have set up while cooking or the top down tasty view really relaxes me. 

I am about to start back my last year of college. This could be match year for me and I am extremely nervous about it.  In my world everything is run by The System™. It’s an advanced computer software that takes the guessing out of living life. It is constantly monitoring your progress through life and how you interact with other people and even with yourself when you are alone. It takes all this analysis and then uses it to make a schedule for it. Everyone follows the schedule without question because it genuinely makes them happy. You don’t know what you want to be when you grow up? The system is constantly analyzing what you are best at and what you enjoy so it can accurately select a job for you that you would be best at. It took into account that while I love cooking and wanted to be a chef when I was younger, as I got older and more full of anxiety the thought of having to be stuck in a kitchen for 10 hours a day maybe more to cook for people with their whole meal plan happiness riding on me caused me multiple sleepless nights. It took this and my interest in cooking videos into account and found that when I graduate from college I will start my own cooking show as a director/producer. I will be given a star as a puppet to cook my recipes stress free. You might think, but doesn’t this not sound appealing to you, you aren’t the real star? The truth is I don’t want to be. I hear about people who enjoy cooking and eating my food. I don’t even want to be the one who makes it. I just want to be the person that gives them the option of that enjoyment. I am getting off track though,  The System™...  The System™ will select my job, it selected my class schedule every school year since I was born. It selects my dinner plans when I want to go out, it schedules and gets me tickets for events I want to go to.  The System™ is flawless. The best part about it is there is choice. If you are tired of going going going  The System™ doesn’t schedule anything and goes idle allowing you free time to do anything. My friends come around drunk at 2 am asking me to go play tennis in the courts even though they are off limits? We can go do that. We might get in trouble by the campus police if they catch us, but that’s the thrill of it. I want to stay up until 4 am even though I have an 8 am class the next day watching drunken kitchen? I get that enjoyment and the misery the next day. I even get the choice to whether I can muster through class or sleep blissfully for another few hours.  The System™ allows choice, it even allows consequence. It just makes the hardest choices for you and you are free to widle away your free time however you want. It uses this time to gather data anyway to make future choices so where is the harm in that. 

Match year: In your final semester of college  The System™ is advertised to know enough about your life that it can start matching you with your loved one. As  The System™ is so flexible you get a year of interaction with said significant other before it determines if you should marry.  The System™ allows for multiple romances, my grandmother, rest her soul, was married twice in her life. She was with her first husband for 25 years from Age 22-47. In the later years his and her interests changed and no longer aligned for their retirement at 65.  The System™ announced they were already divorced and already had new places to live. My grandmother was remarried 5 years later to the man she was with until she died at 85. She was blissfully happy even when she passed. You begin to have your matching option in your last year of college (if the typical four year college route was chosen for you). Not everyone gets matched this year but the option is now available if you are ready and I feel like I am ready.  I’ve dreamed and have counted down the days to my final year of college so I can have a chance at romance. With all this desire how could  The System™ not find me a match? 

It’s 11:56pm. The systems updated events come out at midnight on Saturday. Mostly people check their events when they awake in the morning but the thought of waiting to see this semesters schedule is driving me up a wall. When the clock rolls over I will know if I was matched. It along with my housing situation and my class schedule for this semester will be revealed. I am in agony for 4 long minutes. A small set of party balloons float down my phones screen and pop with the words update available. The cute surprise does not faze me and I smash my thumb into the words to get the update. The screen loads instantly but even that seems like an eternity. When the words appear it takes me a moment to process them fully. ‘Congratulations you have been matched!’ lists across the top of my screen. I am already laying down in the dark of my room but I feel like I could fall back further and let the phone fall down onto my chest. The phone is clear so this does little to stop the light it produces but the sentiment is clear. I open my eyes not realizing I have squeezes them shut and scream yes at the top of my lungs. I neighbors dog barks out scared. I laugh to myself and throw my arm over my face before realizing I should read the rest of my message to get the rest of my schedule. 

Fast forward to move-in day. I will be living in a shared quarters with another match couple. We share a living room kitchen area with their room and a small bathroom on one side and our room and a small bathroom on the other. I arrive before my match and wait to unpack. I’d rather us do it together. She arrives like a ray of sunshine. She looks like  Allison Williams and she is a delight, her name is Marnie (just like in Girls) and she is a tour de force. She is strong, outspoken, and determined. I can tell I am constantly surprising her but she refuses to completely let on. For example she arrives with her parents to help her unpack. She greets me with a wide smile and asks if I have been here long. I tell her only a few hours and she glances behind me at my stacked boxes. She cocks her head and says ‘ you haven’t unpacked in that time?’ I tell her I was waiting for her and she has this microsecond where she visibly glancing inward with a small smile. The microsecond passes and she is back on like a bright light, wisking me up in her enthusiasm as she takes the lead on how we should unpack everything. She takes such charge and is so successful in doing so that even her parents fall into her direction. We quickly unpack everything that day. Not to be presumptuous we shower separately but join each other in the same bed that night. We lay facing each other but I can tell she has an air of caution. I tell her not to worry, let’s let things progress naturally. She evaluates my statement and finds it to be truthful and visibly relaxes. She tells me that she is secretly glad I am the way I am. She confesses that she thought she might be paired with some macho guy to ‘knock her down a peg’. She said she was afraid because she likes to lead and not be weighted down by anything. She said she feels free with me like I am an extension of her. I tell her it feels like I have been waiting for her. She laughs and says I better be ready, she hates cooking. I tell her the career path I’m on and she falls back into her pillow laughing. She praises   he System™ and for the first night in awhile I am able to sleep soundly. 

The next week passes comfortably. We get to know each other in a slow pace and we enjoy each others company. We never rush or show much affection in the beginning and I find that to be a relief. It really feels like there is no pressure. I go to my classes and make new friends. West is in my computer editing class and he is a riot. For some reason he is like Dewie from Malcom in the middle and I often find him outside of class sitting at the dinner table. Our hall director is Hal from Malcom in the Middle, he is good natured if not sometimes bumbling. I meet with West everyday for lunch and we fall into a steady rhythm.  He shows me this insane code he has been working on. Its a type of virus that lets you hack other peoples System’s and gather some of their prerecorded data. I tell him that sounds dangerous. He laughs me off saying he’s been using it to make memes of his other three roommates. They are all similar natured to him and they find it to be a hoot. I tell him I am glad The System™ paired him with like minded individuals and that I would be wary myself. He laughs me off and says that is why we don’t live together but I might not be so lucky if I lose to him at another game night. I chuckle but I have a nagging nervousness that he is telling the truth as a veiled joke. 

My hall is the single floor of a four story building. We are at the top. Each room houses 4 people and there are many ‘dorms’ on my hall.  Each day passes comfortably until about 3 months have passed. Everyday I am grateful to the match with Marnie. Everything is so perfect I can’t believe I ever lived my life any other way. We are required to make progress reports weekly after the first month. It’s  The System™ ‘s way of tracking how its match went. I sit down on the night that Marnie has a study group to record this week’s entry. I am overwhelmed by my happiness. I set my System in its port on my desk and it projects as a large monitor. I select face-cam in my weekly reports menu and record the following;

“I am unthinkably happy. I never thought I could feel this kind of happiness’ I look away for a moment and cover my mouth. A single tear runs down my check and I am quiet. I turn back to the screen and whip it away saying “its all thanks to  The System™ “ 

What I don’t notice is the screen flickering during my recording. The playback starts and the video is played back to me: 

“I am un-” the video skips. “happy. I never thought I could feel this kind of-” another skip “-sness”  I look away for a moment and cover my mouth. A single tear runs down my check and I am quiet.

The video ends there and the only option is submit. I stare in horror, my body wound tight. The end of happiness sounds like a weak sadness. The whole video has taken on a new tone. While you can clearly see the video appears badly edited I am not sure if  The System™ can tell. I nervous put my hand down on the table as if I were holding a mouse.  The System™ responds as if I am and I move the cursor wildly around the screen. I know that  The System™ does not allow you to change your reports to keep 100% honesty. You have to be prepared to record. I move my hand off the table and look defeated. The system starts to count down to submit, most people record and then walk away letting The System™ submit for them. I scream in frustration and push my way out of my chair knocking it over. It falls to the floor and I turn away. I heat the soft submission noise and turn back to bang my hands on the table. I calm myself and think there is no way that  The System™ can’t tell its messed up right? I feel a bit better with a small egg of nervousness in my gullet. 

The next day my fears are confirmed. When I return from my classes Marnie is sitting on the bed looking shell shocked. I stare at her openly and she looks up saying our match has been terminated. She wanders around the room pacing trying to work out why it’s happened. I am completely frozen. I want to tell her what happened but I can’t move. How could this happen?  The System™ is so perfect. The next few days are a bit of a blur. Marnie becomes distant. She believes in the system too much and thinks it must be true. Its like she shifts her brain into this new setting and boom is fine with the decision. She treats me like nothing more than a roommate at this point and I cannot shake the numb that has overtaken me. At the end of one week it is announced that she will be moved to a new room and I will get a new roommate. Finally my numbness breaks and I am furious. I storm from class to class seething. The teachers must take notice because i am summoned to the dean’s office. He is a man of about 55. He clearly cares a lot about appearances and is fit, drinking a green concoction from a personal ninja that he keeps on a desk side bar table. No glass scotch container in sight.  His hair is expertly coiffed to the point where it might be a wig but I cannot tell for sure. His eyes are a piercing blue and he has a leathery tanned skin that is excellently moisturized giving him an almost shiny plastic appearance. He makes big sweeping gestures and tries to make a big speech about how  The System™ knows best and while this may be painful now it will pass as only  The System™ can know the true results. I listen carefully to him almost zoning out but not quite. I enter a zen like zone where I am catching all his micro movements but hearing none of his words. I notice that every 20 or so words he side glances for a millisecond at his projected System. I take in for the first time that his screen is not transparent glass like the rest of us. Instead it is solid like models from the early 2000s. I try to make sure I am looking straight at his face but instead look behind him at the glass. I can see a faint reflection of his screen in the window. It’s daytime so its very hard to make out but its an internet window I have never seen before. I cannot determine the site but I am sure I have never seen it. There are only a handful of websites so I am surprised that he is on one I have never seen. I ponder if educators getting access to specific portals when he stands abruptly. I gather quickly that his speech is over and shake his hand. I don’t thank him and simply nod when he asks if I understand everything now. That satisfies him and he pats himself on the back for a job well done and asks his receptionist to usher me out of his office. 

That night I go to the clubhouse. My rowdy group of friends have taken tenancy in an abandoned building toward the northern side of campus. A decrepit old political science building of three stories. It was condemned at some point in the past. Some past class then petitioned for it to not be torn down and somehow won the building a historical site award. The university instead of putting forth money to preserve the building and turn it into some sort of museum instead chose to rope the eyesore off. One of my past seniors had taken a few of his engineering buddies and acquired a blue print of the property. Much to many past students dismay the second floor seemingly had no bathrooms and they had to either go up or down a flight of stairs if the necessary feelings came on. According to the blue print however these rooms were constructed but then walled off for some reason. My senior then snuck out with his friends every night for many months until they were able to construct a secret bookcase entrance to said room. They were then renovated into a spacious college hangout for only those christened important. The bookcase door had a very secret code that was changed every semester to keep old alumni from coming back to relive their glory days. My current group of friends had passed this knowledge on to me. I shifted the books on the shelf to reveal a keypad which I then punched a specific code into. The door swung open and I slipped inside. A few of my friends were there and they greeted me by throwing a soda can directly at my head. I was use to this motion and caught it awkwardly. I immediately slumped into a chair and explained the entire situation. My friends were very attentive. I had never asked much of them and they were happy to oblige. After my tale had rung they chipped in their opinions but one of my friends was pensive. I specifically chimed out his name and my other friends went silent. He said he heard once that there was more outside of the system. We asked what he meant. He said he could not be sure and that this might not make sense but he feels like he might have once known more. Something about how there are choices now, but they are nothing compared to what once was. I mentioned the teachers portal and one of my friends said that his System has him set to be an educator but not once have they ever mentioned their own website. Their conversations and theories carried on but I started to hatch a plan. 

Friday came quickly, Marnie’s move-out date. I watched sadly as she packed all her things and prepared to leave. She was excited because the filing did not say who her new roommate was. It dawned on me for the first time that she could have been matched with someone else and i grew sick from jealousy. I offered to help her move but she dismissed me. Stress consumed me, after she moved out with the help of one of her friends I paced around my half empty room. I had to find an excuse to find out who her new roommate would be. I finally decided I could make up an excuse on the fly and ran down the hall peeking in every open door to determine which was hers. I kicked myself for not asking her in the first place where she was moving but I decided to calm myself by convincing myself that she would not have told me anyway. After two hall turns I found her door, it was slightly ajar as they moved boxes in. I was relieved to see her new roommate was one of my computer editing classes mates and a female. I drew solace from this and suddenly was overcome with a feeling of stupidity. I realized I was being obsessive and turned to snap myself out of it. I marched back to my room to finish preparing. 

Several days later it was time for my plan to go into action. I had placed an anonymous tip to the campus police about our clubhouse. I made no mention of my group but instead hinted heavily that it was a single rogue student jaded with  The System™ trying to hack it and dismantle it. The dean as I thought took this threat very seriously and he himself hemmed the project of trying to open the clubhouse door. I avoided my friends at all cost so as not to hear their laments. It was a necessary cost if what I believed to be occurring was.  I let night fall and nervously tried to busy myself with YouTube videos. No amount of cooking videos could quell my anxiety at this point. When 7:45pm rolled around, I dressed in all black and set out for the clubhouse. As expected the day workers had left and all that was left was the dean. I sneaked expertly around the building I had wandered around dozens of times. He stood puzzled. They had ascertained where the clubhouse door sat and had set up flood lights pointing directly at the bookshelf. They must have been trying all day to guess the code to open the door. I had assumed correctly that they could do not damage to the building with its historical status. I moved pass this room to the adjacent corner classroom in which the dean had set up a pseudo command center. Again my guess had been correct that they would need a command central. I assumed the office would normally be locked but the dean’s dedication to protecting The System™ kept him later than most. I searched the room for a place to hide. This is the one part of the plan that I could not guess accurately. I had hoped there would be a desk to hide behind but there was no such luck. I grew stressed and heard the dean yawn from the other room. I knew I had to run and spun around to leave. Out of the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of a sheet. I walked over to what must have once been a teachers supply closet and opened it. I pile of white sheets cascaded out. I instantly knew this must have been the sheets that protected the tables now being used in this command center. I jumped into them in a last ditch effort figuring this would be my only chance to find anything out. This move proved fruitful as the dean entered the room not even a moment later. He seemed non perturbed by the pile of sheets now residing in front of the open cabinet. I peeked between the folds of the sheet watching him head over to a blueprint of the building. 

At this point he sighed and plopped down at an old teachers desk positioned at the front of the room. A stack of four books sat to the right side of the desk. I thought of the catalog of books available to all. There were only a 100 books on the list but I could instantly tell that these four were not. Only one new book was introduced a year, the selection process was marked as being rigorous. I wondered if the Dean was somehow on the selection committee. The dean moved to select the top copy and place it in front of him. He reached into the top drawer of the desk and pulled out a white out stick. He then proceeded to open and read over the book while simultaneously marking out lines on almost every single page. I narrowed my eyes. This was definitely not a selection process. He was censoring the literature. I tried to think of a million reasons why this could be when someone knocked on the door.

A redheaded woman stepped in and I recognized her to be a district superintendent. I grew nervous as she looked over the room with a wary eye. She told the dean that he needed to wrap this up, he must know how sensitive any information about  The System™ getting out would be. He nervously walked up to her and tried to cover up his nerves with flourishing gestures. The intended affect was different than he had hoped as the superintendent stepped back in disgust clearly not wanting to be touched by him. I wondered the ramifications of such a gesture but decided that was another story. She straightened herself and glanced straight at my sheet pile. She sneered. The jig is up I thought and squeezed my eyes shut for reveal. Nothing came however and she just spit out a dagger of ‘and clean this place up’ before leaving. The dean deflated and followed to see her out. Now was my chance. I grabbed my backpack and unzipped it to reveal its only contents. A small racket ball racket and a tennis ball. I looked out just on the other side of the parking lot surrounding this building and eyed the tennis courts. The glowed brightly flooded with artificial light and buzzing with students taking a night beginners class. I grinned and lifted the ancient window until it was jolted open. I then used my small racket to smack a tennis ball directly into the wind shield of the dean’s car. The alarm instantly started blaring and I pushed the window shut as quickly as I could. I ducked down in the process so no one would catch me in the window. I peaked just enough however to see the Dean run from his place beside the superintendent outside to his car and start screaming a stream of profanities. I continued to grin and felt I could do so until the end of time and moved over to the table of blue prints. On the desk sat a copy of the desktop port for his System. Into it I snapped into place the greatest part of my plan. A copy of the virus that West has created to hack into someones System. A copy of his screen ported in and the virus went to work decrypting. It only took a few minutes and I was in. What was revealed I was unprepared for. There were not just a handful of websites as I had always been lead to believe. Instead there were thousands if not millions. Just a short search revealed endless possibilities. All the choices we thought we had were instead a watered down set of predetermined choices just like the books that the dean was editing. I sat back knowing that I must leak all this information. I might never get to be with Marnie again but I knew that in the long run this would hopefully benefit her and the world more. 

[abujaihs-blog]

How Berlin’s Housing Crisis Leaves Women Vulnerable to Sexual Predators

Berlin, like other major German cities, is in the midst of a housing crisis, with people struggling to find accommodation. Sexual predators are taking advantage of this situation, reports Sarah Wilson. When expat Laura Rosell, 34, turned up for a flat viewing in Berlin in late 2016, everything seemed normal at first. The flat was being rented out by a middle-aged man, and, although it was very small, “it was cheap, he seemed pleasant enough, and I was desperate – as is everyone – so I was considering it,” she tells The Local. It didn’t take long, however, for Rosell to realize that something wasn’t right. While chatting about the washing machine, “he explained that he'd prefer if we put our clothes together into some sort of mixed laundry load,” Rosell says. It's a request she found a little strange but not a red flag, until he added '..and I prefer to do that alone'.   At this point, says Rosell, a dread came over her as she realized “this guy had some kind of women's clothing fetish". "I should also mention that the apartment layout was so narrow that I realized I'd feel unsafe about having no 'escape' space around him if he stood in the middle of any of those places," she adds. After hastily turning down his offer for the flat, “the man invited me to spend more time with him," she says. "I'm pretty sure I didn't reply, and I certainly didn't say yes." Unfortunately, her experience is no anomaly among women in Berlin today. For several years now, Berlin – alongside other major German cities – has been facing a growing housing crisis. An explosion in population (growing by about 50,000 a year over the past five years) has led to major housing shortages, decreased availability of social housing and rental prices up across the capital by 46% since 2009. Mention flat-hunting to anyone who’s tried it in Berlin and in return you’ll hear countless tales of viewings with hundreds of hopefuls lining the stairs, elaborate scams and endless WG “castings” that rarely end in success.   It’s a situation that leaves many frustrated. But for women in particular, the consequences can be even more sinister – and sometimes downright dangerous. 'Sexual harassment' However progressive some may deem Germany to be, the country still has undeniable problems with sexual harassment and assault. Half of the women in Germany have experienced sexual harassment. Today, in the capital's tough rental market, predators have found new ways to exploit women – taking advantage of the fact that many are new to the city and desperate for a place to live. It’s a situation that Rosell, a freelancer originally from the US, knows all too well. Not long after her unsettling experience in 2016, she received another offer from a man who claimed that "he wanted a roommate who would also be his (intimate) partner and become a disciple of his spiritual wellness system as well as help him with administrative things in his business". Across Germany, the custom of living in WGs (shared accomodation) ordinarily leaves the selection of new tenants up to the existing or main tenant(s), an arrangement that can create a power imbalance.   Indeed, Karen*, an expat also from the US said that during her search for an apartment, she saw a lot of ads online from middle-aged men looking for young female roommates. "Several of them contacted me through WG-Gesucht, but I never met them," she says. "A part of me felt guilty for not giving them a chance, but something about the situation always felt wrong. Why would a man 20 years older than me want to be my roommate?”   Official and unofficial channels Currently, “official” flat-finding channels like WG-Gesucht and Immobilienscout have options available for reporting scam ads, but little information on what to do in cases of inappropriate behaviour. Representatives from WG Gesucht told The Local that they are quick to “delete accounts with offensive ads and messages, admonish the users and block the accounts". "In case of a continued inappropriate use of our service, we also reserve the right to take legal action against those users," the company added. They also claim that ads of an inappropriate nature are “very rare". By and large, however, the ad sites like WG Gesucht pertain to legal sublets, where the local authorities will be aware who is living in the flat. Higher authorities like the Hausverwaltung (house administration) or the landlord/lady can be approached with any problems. The issue for many foreigners, however, is that renting through these official channels often requires a mountain of paperwork that most don’t have - or even know about - immediately upon arrival. Consequently, many are forced to look through “unofficial” channels like Facebook and Craigslist, where advertised sublets are frequently illegal - lending more power to the sublessor and leaving the lessee more open to exploitation.

Who is responsible for removing dubious offers? The Berliner Mieterverein – the Berlin Tenant’s Association – suggested to The Local that in the case of dubious offers “the platform operator should be notified immediately so that the sender of the ad is blocked”. When 26-year-old Rita Macedo tried to report inappropriate behaviour to WG Gesucht, however, she noted that there was no function for doing so. A man she spoke to on the platform escalated their conversation to “him saying that if I were to live with him, he would like to take semi or total naked pictures of me in 'our' house". She adds: "He proceeded to send me pictures of half naked girls he supposedly photographed and even though I said I was not interested in that he just kept on pushing”. Yet without a report function on the website, Macedo was horrified to see that “months after I noticed that the guy was still posting offers, same name, same address, same pictures.” Though the Berliner Mieterverein admits that the Berlin housing market is "very tense" and finding a place to live can become a "real problem”, they suggest that “women should not engage in dubious deals” and should “stay away from housing offers” from the outset. In some cases, however, the approach comes from landlords or lessors themselves.   Photo-enabled harassment Rosell believes that the custom of exchanging photographs and/or social media profiles with lessors, a practice also common on German resumes,  allows predatory men to target women specifically on house-hunting platforms. “The whole personal appearance-based component to house-hunting here makes it a little unsettling right off the bat, in a way that it shouldn't need to be”, she tells The Local. As an illustration of how this access can be exploited, Rosell explains how she received a “semi-notorious” email during her flat-hunt from a man who “offers to be your slave in a very detailed email”. It struck her after talking with other women, that she isn't the only woman who has received it and that he must have been picking and choosing who he was sending it to. Harassment from a roommate It’s not just during the search that women find themselves in danger either. About a month after moving into a WG, Karen’s flatmate started to behave inappropriately towards her, “stand too close to me in the kitchen”, touching her as he passed by and staring at her body. At one point, says Karen, he told her 'I won't have any contact with a woman unless sex is an option' before looking her up and down and adding 'that includes you. You're a very beautiful woman'. His behaviour made Karen feel extremely frightened and uncomfortable, but she felt trapped in the flat: “I lived like this for a few more months because I was terrified of going back to the apartment search," she says. Eventually, Karen managed to move out, though not without difficulty. “I lied and told him I was moving in with my boyfriend, and he seemed to take this as rejection," she says. In the end, she was forced to get legal counsel to disentangle herself from him, and was still forced to pay an extra month of rent.

Later, she went to the police, fearing another woman might go through what she had. After 10 months, she was forwarded an apology letter from the perpetrator. She said the police told her the only reason her case went that far is because the man had touched her. "If he hadn’t...nothing would have been done," she says. Meanwhile, Rosell believes that these problems of harassment and exploitation won’t be resolved until the housing market itself is fixed: “The housing market wouldn't be so rife with predators if that market itself didn't lend itself so easily to economic exploitation,” she says. 'If the police can't protect you, who can?' In spite of strict subletting laws in Berlin, enforcement is rare and illegal sublets still rife. The police and the law, too, are lagging behind rapid changes to the housing market and the problems it’s engendering, leaving women unsure of who to turn to when they find themselves in these situations, or indeed whether it’s worth reporting at all. “This city's police might need to consider updating the way they handle cases ," Rosell says. "We're powerless; 'your Hausverwaltung holds the power' sounds a bit ridiculous," she adds. "I mean, if the police can't protect you or de-escalate a situation like that, who can? And how?” By Sarah Wilson Read the full article

[abujaihs-blog]

How Berlin’s Housing Crisis Leaves Women Vulnerable to Sexual Predators

Berlin, like other major German cities, is in the midst of a housing crisis, with people struggling to find accommodation. Sexual predators are taking advantage of this situation, reports Sarah Wilson. When expat Laura Rosell, 34, turned up for a flat viewing in Berlin in late 2016, everything seemed normal at first. The flat was being rented out by a middle-aged man, and, although it was very small, “it was cheap, he seemed pleasant enough, and I was desperate – as is everyone – so I was considering it,” she tells The Local. It didn’t take long, however, for Rosell to realize that something wasn’t right. While chatting about the washing machine, “he explained that he'd prefer if we put our clothes together into some sort of mixed laundry load,” Rosell says. It's a request she found a little strange but not a red flag, until he added '..and I prefer to do that alone'.   At this point, says Rosell, a dread came over her as she realized “this guy had some kind of women's clothing fetish". "I should also mention that the apartment layout was so narrow that I realized I'd feel unsafe about having no 'escape' space around him if he stood in the middle of any of those places," she adds. After hastily turning down his offer for the flat, “the man invited me to spend more time with him," she says. "I'm pretty sure I didn't reply, and I certainly didn't say yes." Unfortunately, her experience is no anomaly among women in Berlin today. For several years now, Berlin – alongside other major German cities – has been facing a growing housing crisis. An explosion in population (growing by about 50,000 a year over the past five years) has led to major housing shortages, decreased availability of social housing and rental prices up across the capital by 46% since 2009. Mention flat-hunting to anyone who’s tried it in Berlin and in return you’ll hear countless tales of viewings with hundreds of hopefuls lining the stairs, elaborate scams and endless WG “castings” that rarely end in success.   It’s a situation that leaves many frustrated. But for women in particular, the consequences can be even more sinister – and sometimes downright dangerous. 'Sexual harassment' However progressive some may deem Germany to be, the country still has undeniable problems with sexual harassment and assault. Half of the women in Germany have experienced sexual harassment. Today, in the capital's tough rental market, predators have found new ways to exploit women – taking advantage of the fact that many are new to the city and desperate for a place to live. It’s a situation that Rosell, a freelancer originally from the US, knows all too well. Not long after her unsettling experience in 2016, she received another offer from a man who claimed that "he wanted a roommate who would also be his (intimate) partner and become a disciple of his spiritual wellness system as well as help him with administrative things in his business". Across Germany, the custom of living in WGs (shared accomodation) ordinarily leaves the selection of new tenants up to the existing or main tenant(s), an arrangement that can create a power imbalance.   Indeed, Karen*, an expat also from the US said that during her search for an apartment, she saw a lot of ads online from middle-aged men looking for young female roommates. "Several of them contacted me through WG-Gesucht, but I never met them," she says. "A part of me felt guilty for not giving them a chance, but something about the situation always felt wrong. Why would a man 20 years older than me want to be my roommate?”   Official and unofficial channels Currently, “official” flat-finding channels like WG-Gesucht and Immobilienscout have options available for reporting scam ads, but little information on what to do in cases of inappropriate behaviour. Representatives from WG Gesucht told The Local that they are quick to “delete accounts with offensive ads and messages, admonish the users and block the accounts". "In case of a continued inappropriate use of our service, we also reserve the right to take legal action against those users," the company added. They also claim that ads of an inappropriate nature are “very rare". By and large, however, the ad sites like WG Gesucht pertain to legal sublets, where the local authorities will be aware who is living in the flat. Higher authorities like the Hausverwaltung (house administration) or the landlord/lady can be approached with any problems. The issue for many foreigners, however, is that renting through these official channels often requires a mountain of paperwork that most don’t have - or even know about - immediately upon arrival. Consequently, many are forced to look through “unofficial” channels like Facebook and Craigslist, where advertised sublets are frequently illegal - lending more power to the sublessor and leaving the lessee more open to exploitation.

Who is responsible for removing dubious offers? The Berliner Mieterverein – the Berlin Tenant’s Association – suggested to The Local that in the case of dubious offers “the platform operator should be notified immediately so that the sender of the ad is blocked”. When 26-year-old Rita Macedo tried to report inappropriate behaviour to WG Gesucht, however, she noted that there was no function for doing so. A man she spoke to on the platform escalated their conversation to “him saying that if I were to live with him, he would like to take semi or total naked pictures of me in 'our' house". She adds: "He proceeded to send me pictures of half naked girls he supposedly photographed and even though I said I was not interested in that he just kept on pushing”. Yet without a report function on the website, Macedo was horrified to see that “months after I noticed that the guy was still posting offers, same name, same address, same pictures.” Though the Berliner Mieterverein admits that the Berlin housing market is "very tense" and finding a place to live can become a "real problem”, they suggest that “women should not engage in dubious deals” and should “stay away from housing offers” from the outset. In some cases, however, the approach comes from landlords or lessors themselves.   Photo-enabled harassment Rosell believes that the custom of exchanging photographs and/or social media profiles with lessors, a practice also common on German resumes,  allows predatory men to target women specifically on house-hunting platforms. “The whole personal appearance-based component to house-hunting here makes it a little unsettling right off the bat, in a way that it shouldn't need to be”, she tells The Local. As an illustration of how this access can be exploited, Rosell explains how she received a “semi-notorious” email during her flat-hunt from a man who “offers to be your slave in a very detailed email”. It struck her after talking with other women, that she isn't the only woman who has received it and that he must have been picking and choosing who he was sending it to. Harassment from a roommate It’s not just during the search that women find themselves in danger either. About a month after moving into a WG, Karen’s flatmate started to behave inappropriately towards her, “stand too close to me in the kitchen”, touching her as he passed by and staring at her body. At one point, says Karen, he told her 'I won't have any contact with a woman unless sex is an option' before looking her up and down and adding 'that includes you. You're a very beautiful woman'. His behaviour made Karen feel extremely frightened and uncomfortable, but she felt trapped in the flat: “I lived like this for a few more months because I was terrified of going back to the apartment search," she says. Eventually, Karen managed to move out, though not without difficulty. “I lied and told him I was moving in with my boyfriend, and he seemed to take this as rejection," she says. In the end, she was forced to get legal counsel to disentangle herself from him, and was still forced to pay an extra month of rent.

Later, she went to the police, fearing another woman might go through what she had. After 10 months, she was forwarded an apology letter from the perpetrator. She said the police told her the only reason her case went that far is because the man had touched her. "If he hadn’t...nothing would have been done," she says. Meanwhile, Rosell believes that these problems of harassment and exploitation won’t be resolved until the housing market itself is fixed: “The housing market wouldn't be so rife with predators if that market itself didn't lend itself so easily to economic exploitation,” she says. 'If the police can't protect you, who can?' In spite of strict subletting laws in Berlin, enforcement is rare and illegal sublets still rife. The police and the law, too, are lagging behind rapid changes to the housing market and the problems it’s engendering, leaving women unsure of who to turn to when they find themselves in these situations, or indeed whether it’s worth reporting at all. “This city's police might need to consider updating the way they handle cases ," Rosell says. "We're powerless; 'your Hausverwaltung holds the power' sounds a bit ridiculous," she adds. "I mean, if the police can't protect you or de-escalate a situation like that, who can? And how?” By Sarah Wilson Read the full article