#i gushed out these tags when i started the sketch about a week ago and the milky planet rerelease motivated me to finish it

[teddydeer]

been feeling nostalgic and thinking about the scene to egl pipeline so i redesigned one of the oc’s i made in my scene phase (´• ω •`) her name was simi but im thinking of changing it!

[velidewrites]

The Daily Struggles Of An Art Student

Desperate to finish her male anatomy assignment before the deadline, Feyre Archeron finds a secluded corner in a cafe. Or so she thinks.

Pairing: Feysand

Tags: Modern AU, Artist!Feyre, Look folks I'm just going to say it: Feyre spends half of this fic looking up reddit [redacted] for a male anatomy assignment

Notes: Happy birthday the wonderful @the-lonelybarricade! I wrote you this definitely not unhinged one-shot as a little gift. Thank you for being such a great friend, and truly the most supportive person in this fandom. I cherish you!!

Read on AO3

Feyre was running out of time.

Deadlines, she decided, were really not her thing. What was that saying? “You can’t rush art?” Well, her professor at the New York Academy of Art would be inclined to disagree. Then again, Feyre wasn’t sure the blank page shining a soft, white light from her iPad could really count as “art.”

She sighed in frustration, shifting in her seat. As if the new angle could help, somehow. With exactly four hours and twenty minutes until she was to submit her assignment, the prospect of failing was quickly starting to look more and more like a reality. Feyre had always been bad at painting from memory, particularly when it came to capturing people. Her own cat, she could probably paint in minutes and be satisfied with the outcome. Or the view from her apartment. Or the honey-brown colour of her sister’s eyes, especially when she just saw Elain at dinner the other day.

Male anatomy, on the other hand…

Feyre needed a reference. Desperately.

It wasn’t unusual for an art student to spend hours on Pinterest, searching for the perfect pose, one that would be just right. Feyre had done it herself too many times to count. It was simply that…well, Pinterest could not provide a reference for everything. And Feyre would rather not use her own memory to capture a man’s physique in full.

She had just broken up with Tamlin, after all, and had very little interest in ever recalling their time together again. Lucky for her, he had moved to Boston last week to pursue his Master’s, never to bother her again. Hopefully.

Unfortunately, with Pinterest proving entirely hopeless, and Tamlin decidedly out of the picture, Feyre was left entirely out of options.

The worst thing about all this was that Feyre had only herself to blame.

There had been one option she simply pretended not to acknowledge, though she would have finished yesterday morning had it not been for her own stubbornness—or, as Nesta had called it, had she not been such a prude. Feyre certainly did not think of herself as one—it was just that…well.

Every morning, from 8 till 10:30 sharp, her class offered anatomy studies with a handful of volunteers from the student body posing for their life drawing. Ninety-nine percent of the time, they were completely nude, which was not something Feyre would have cared about in the slightest had their newest model not been Feyre’s best friend. And her sister’s new boyfriend.

Ever since she had told Lucien Vanserra the school was considering paying the volunteers for their efforts, his gaze lit up and, not even a day later, there he was, his name displayed proudly on the sign-up sheet. Feyre knew him long enough now to know the extra money in his pocket was just an excuse. Someone has to capture this body one way or another, Feyre, Lucien had told her a few days ago, a twinkle in his russet eye. She supposed he did make an interesting art subject, with the scar and all—but not nearly interesting enough to strut through the East Building proudly, letting both students and teachers alike gush on about his “cruel beauty.”

Elain, to her horror, seemed to support Lucien’s latest modelling endeavours wholeheartedly.

“He promised to bring a few of the sketches home,” her sister had told her excitedly at dinner. The best reaction Feyre could offer was a horrified, blinking stare.

It wasn’t that Lucien was lacking in the looks department—on the contrary, actually—but she’d always seen him as a brother, ever since the day he’d almost run her over on his motorcycle, her very first day as a college freshman. And so, for the past few days, Feyre would make sure to avoid the East Building like the plague.

Today, she ended up in a nearby campus cafe, a cozy spot for a senior art student seeking privacy, yet still crowded enough to make Feyre look over her shoulder every few minutes. She’d opted for a secluded corner near the restrooms, with no windows next to her table, just in case a nosy passerby caught a glimpse of what exactly Feyre was drawing. Or, rather, attempting to draw.

She glanced at her phone, an unpleasant sense of dread curling in her stomach once again as she realised twenty more minutes had passed. Had she really wasted all that precious time thinking about Lucien?

Feyre needed to come up with a solution, and fast. There was no way she was failing this class, not in her final year. She was planning to move to Paris next year and continue her education there—where better than the art capital of the world? She would not let a poor painting of a penis, of all things, ruin all of her plans and dreams for the future.

Relying on Pinterest for now, Feyre began sketching the unnamed man. His upper body posed no serious issues, and she found herself done with the clean lineart and three hours thirty minutes left to spare. The thighs, too, seemed to feature all the muscles in correct places, though upon further inspection, she had perhaps drawn them slightly too large for a regular, male specimen. Whatever. With Lucien as the current model, she doubted any of her classmates would submit perfectly proportionate sketches.

Good, Feyre decided. This was good. The only thing left for her to do now was to find a good reference for the final pièce de résistance. She could do this—there was no one around, after all, and she’d make sure her browser history would be wiped clean later. Ressina, her classmate from the Academy, liked to borrow Feyre’s iPad sometimes to try her skills at digital art—and Feyre wasn’t sure their friendship was well-established enough that she could explain without making a fool of herself.

With a deep, deep sigh, Feyre got over herself and fired up Reddit.

Well.

This was going to make things a whole lot easier.

It was honestly beyond her that this entire archive was out there, for free and simply waiting for her to download. Without wasting any more time, Feyre got to scrolling.

She hadn’t expected to be flooded with so many options, but soon enough, she found just the perfect reference—the angle matched exactly the pose she had already outlined, and from the ruler he’d so proudly displayed beside it, the man didn’t seem like he would mind. And so, with the image neatly placed in the corner of her canvas, Feyre began to add the sketch. Everything seemed to be coming together—and, her focus lost entirely to the penis before her, she was actually starting to believe she might just submit this thing in time.

“Friend of yours?”

“Shit!” Feyre jumped, pressing her iPad close to her chest as she whirled back.

The voice behind her—of course—turned out to be a man. The most beautiful man she’d ever seen.

“Well?” he asked, eyes twinkling. Were they actually violet, or was the soft light pouring through the window just that spectacular?

Feyre felt her cheeks heating. “You know, it’s rude to invade other people’s privacy,” she told him, anger slowly replacing the embarrassment coiling in her chest.  Who was this man, this stranger, to question her?

He only seemed more amused, though he lifted a defensive hand. “Hey, I was just leaving the restroom,” he said, pointing back to the staircase behind. “It’s not my fault you’re right out here for all to see. Who’s invading whose privacy now, hmm?” Before Feyre opened her mouth to retort, the man added, “Oh, no need to apologise. Mind if I sit?”

And with that, he simply plopped down on the chair beside her.

The audacity. 

Feyre’s eyes narrowed. “I wasn’t going to apologise,” she said, setting her now locked iPad on the table.

He ran a hand through his hair, raven waves soaking up the sunlight, and smiled again. “I was hoping you would say that.”

“Anyway, this isn’t my friend,” Feyre said, hoping there was enough mockery in her tone to wipe that stupid grin off his handsome face. “It’s a project. For art school.”

“Ah, yes” he mused, drumming his long, slender fingers on the polished wood. “I could tell from how precise your strokes were.” Something about the way he said strokes made the heat in her face nearly boil over. Get it together, idiot! He leaned back in his seat, as if he could somehow tell exactly what Feyre was thinking. Then, he proclaimed, “You’re an artist.”

Alright, Feyre decided. Not entirely a prick, then. “I’m not sure I’d call myself that,” she admitted honestly. Not yet, at least.

“I would,” he said, the corner of his mouth curling slightly as he added, “I’d like to call you many things, actually. Let’s start with your name.”

There it was. Feyre couldn’t help but flirt in return. Prick or not, she liked his boldness—and his good looks certainly were no disadvantage. “You first,” she demanded.

He flashed her a wide, brilliant smile. “My favourite subject.”

She rolled her eyes playfully. “That doesn’t surprise me one bit.”

“Rhysand,” he said. “But you, darling, can call me Rhys.”

Rhysand. The name was so unusual she almost didn’t register what he’d called her. Darling. It was then that she’d finally taken her eyes off his face long enough to take in the rest of him—the deep, English accent, lilting as though he wasn’t speaking to her but singing the smoothest melody.

Yeah—she really needed to get it together.

“What brings you to New York City, Rhysand?” she asked him, not giving him the satisfaction of using his clearly personal nickname yet. His eyes sparkled again, accepting the challenge.

He shrugged. “Research. The sights. Pretty girls drawing male genitalia at 1pm on a Tuesday.” Rhysand winked. “Greatest city in the world, huh?”

Feyre’s cheeks flushed again. “Research?” she questioned, desperate not to go back to that topic with a man she’d only just met.

Rhys chuckled. “Yes. I’m an astronomer—or about to be, at least.”

“Interesting.”

“It is,” he agreed, and she could’ve sworn actual stars flickered in his gaze with the words. “You’d be surprised just how much the night sky has to offer.”

“I paint it sometimes,” Feyre told him, unsure why she’d just admitted something that personal to a stranger. “Whenever I feel…down, I suppose.”

To her surprise, Rhys nodded. “I do the same.”

Her brows flicked up. “Paint?”

“I’m afraid I’m not that talented. No, I look up—watch the stars.”

Feyre smiled. “That actually sounds wonderful.”

Rhys angled his head. “You know, I haven’t had the chance to explore the New York sky yet. I could use some company.”

Something told her she was up for one hell of a first date. “Alright, Rhys,” Feyre said, his face lighting up triumphantly at the name. She chuckled, grabbing her iPad as she rose from her chair. “Meet me here at seven thirty tonight.”

“Wait!” he called after her. “You still haven’t told me your name.”

“Hmm, I don’t know,” she teased. “I’m not sure I’m ready to part with darling.”

The stars in his eyes twinkled. “Oh, I think we’ll work something out.”

[annaofthenorthernlights]

[image: a purple banner with the words Work in Progress Wednesday in a cursive font]

Work in Progress WednesdayCreators: work on or post something from your WIP. This is your weekly reminder to get something down on paper (real or virtual). It’s also a chance to share your progress with your followers and give them a sneak peek of what’s to come!

Fans: leave a comment on an unfinished fic and let the writer know how much you love it. Reblog an artist’s sketch and let them know you can’t wait to see the final product. Send someone an ask cheering them on!Feel free to repost this image!

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thanks @annas-hair-donut for tagging me!

Agreeing with you, taking a little break from all the smut after Frozen Smut Week... (cough, cough...) does me good, too... lol

So, this week, I´d like to share another snippet from my kristanna long-fic WIP "Love can see beyond" (the sequel to Love can see the good on AO3), a canon verse compliant post Frozen 2 fanfic.

Background: Kristoff is crowned King alongside Queen Anna of Arendelle, and right now the married royal couple spends some time abroad icognito (for the time being)... and this fic is going to be a crossover... Note: This snippet is not edited yet... (please, forgive grammar and spelling mistakes...) but a huge thank you @hiptoff who has beta-read this passage a pretty while ago already!

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Gerda had served them a hearty breakfast when Kai announced that he had received the full list of guests so that the royal couple could prepare themselves for the banquet. All those names, titles, noble houses, and then sorting kingdoms and stately connections. Kristoff groaned by the mere thought of the lesson he would receive from the senior Steward later the day. But then, who else could explain all those things better to them than Kai. And so, the young king sighed, dutifully acknowledging the awaiting task.

Only half an hour later they headed down the servants´ staircase and casually walked around the castle gardens and towards the stables. Kristoff smiled to himself. He liked that incognito disguise and tugged at his comfy vest and adjusted his sash, while Anna looked around and marvelled at the variety of flowers around her. It was truly a beautiful parc, Kristoff had to admit, too.

The two reindeers greeted their friends with a happy snort, raising their heads from the last bit of hay that lingered on the ground. Anna went to gather more from the stuck in the adjoined barn and Kristoff started mocking out the stable ground.

Soon, they were done and led the animals out of the stall to give them the opportunity to move about.

“What about we head down to the beach? I am sure there are not many people, and we could let Sven and Fiona run a bit?” Anna pointed towards the path which led away from the stables down to the shore.

“That´s a great idea.” Kristoff smiled and then helped Anna mount Fiona before he swung himself on Sven´s back. He begun to enjoy his time here more and more.

They rode down the path and some people who walked by turned their heads upon the unusual sight of those animals with antlers, and who was riding them? Kristoff and Anna smiled at the passers-by and kept going without another word than good day and hello. It was so easy and made them feel so free.

Once down on sandy ground, Kristoff turned to Anna and grinned, “fancy a little galop?”

“You mean a race?” Anna grinned back.

“No, just a galop.” Kristoff shook his head.

“And I call it a race.” Anna laughed and clicked her tongue on which Fiona snorted happily and set into a cant along the lagune. It was simply wonderful, only that they left the man and reindeer behind them completely flabbergasted.

“Come on, Sven, you would not have your lady running off, will you?” Kristoff laughed and Sven shook his head only to sprint after his friend. It was fun and it didn´t take long for them to catch up and the four enjoyed themselves immensely while galloping close to the water gushing in on the animals´ feet. Anna squealed and reached out so Kristoff could take her hand. She felt more than happy. This was fantastic since they had not such a beach to run like this in Arendelle.

They let the reindeers slow down after a while and caught their breaths, too. But both laughed and their faces glowed from all the joy. Sven and Fiona snorted contentedly and trotted peacefully along the sand now. Anna looked around, breathed in the fresh air and let out a sigh of relief.

“I could get used to that.”

“No comment to that.” Kristoff glanced at her with a wink, and Anna playfully stuck out her tongue at him, “will you tease me now on every sentence I speak about that place?”

“No, Anna. It just sounded so fitting to what we talked about this morning.”

“See?!”

“Alright, alright, I surrender, and I am sorry. And you are right, this is really….”

“Hush!” Anna held up her hand and pulled at Fiona´s rein, staring with narrowed eyes further down the beach.

“What is it?” Kristoff followed her glance and then gasped just as astonished. They got down from the reindeers and led them behind the dunes and further down the beach hidden behind the sandy hills to get a closer look. They ducked behind a lager dune and left Sven and Fiona graze behind them, while the king and queen of Arendelle crawled up the dune from behind to peep over the top. They could hardly believe what they saw, but it was awesome. Kristoff glanced at Anna who stared with almost watering eyes. He knew what she must be thinking and whispered hoarsely, “it´s magic!”

“Yes!” Anna whispered back. “Look, she moves a bit like Elsa.”

“Yeah…” Kristoff stared ahead.

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Can you guess where they are and who might be the mysterious figure they have detected?

tagging (with noooo obligation) @firawren @true--north @thecassadilla @sidepartskinnyjeans

[pinkbubbles-and-bigtroubles]

Take A Bow (Girls Talk Boys Part 33)

I know it’s been ages since I updated this fic. I am really stuck on everything else I’m working on, and this was the only thing that clicked. I forgot how much I enjoyed these couples though, and I still have more to tell in this story.

if you’re new to this story you can find earlier chapters HERE

“Ashton,” Cher raised her eyebrows at the man grinning at her across her bedroom. “We're just going to the grocery store, why are you looking in the toy box?”

His only response was to turn back to digging through the box of their assorted sex toys. She could see the light bulb go on over his head,and he opened the drawer where the charging pad and the rechargeable toys were. He winked at her and tossed a necklace her way. Cher caught it and her eyes went wide when she realized it was her collar.

It was a simple black leather choker with a round charm with a paw print on one side, the other just said Kitten. Ashton bought it for her about a month ago and it quickly became a signal he was asserting his dominance.

“This is a bit much for a shopping trip,” Cher rolled her eyes trying to hide her excitement

“Did you just talk back to me?” He narrowed his hazel eyes at her as he walked across the room towards her.

“No daddy,” she pouted, “ just surprised me.”

"I've got the bags in the car, is there anything else you need from the store," Cher asked Camille as she grabbed her keys.

Camille was on the couch tangled up with Calum watching a documentary about volcanoes. She glanced up at her roommate raising her eyebrows when she spotted the collar. In the past few months Ashton had been "caught out" in public with Cher a few times, but the past couple weeks he'd made a point to be spotted with her. Camille knew they both denied their relationship was anything past exclusive friends with benefits, however Camille wondered what Ashton was up to with this public show of affection.

Calum laughed as the door closed behind them, "No telling when those two will get back, if they don't get thrown out for fucking in the produce section."

"Oh God I did not need that visual," Camille shook her head trying to clear it like an Etch a Sketch which made Calum laugh even harder.

In contrast to Ashton's situation, Calum was very much happily committed to Camille. He'd taken counseling sessions to get past his jealousy issues, recognizing that his insecurities were at the root of his behavior. Camille was supportive but let it be known that she wasn't responsible for "fixing" him. Calum wanted to work on his communication issues, and she'd helped him open up and get out of his own head.

Camille finally found the security and strength with Calum to fight her own insecurities. Calum was deeply private and rarely posted on social media. For that Camille was grateful as she didn't think she'd be well received by his fans. Camille was known to be a friend of the band. Publicly she'd been seen with Luke on a couple occasions and at parties with the guys. There had been rumors about Luke which they all found hilarious, but that had simmered down once Luke got a girlfriend.

Camille sighed and Calum tensed up, "what's on your mind darling?"

"Sorry babe, was thinking about making cupcakes for Luke and going to see him tomorrow," Camille rested her head on Calum's chest turning her attention back to the screen.

"Mmmm I'm sure he'd like to see you," Calum murmured not really wanting to agree or disagree. Luke's recent breakup with Summer had been a disaster, with Calum right in the middle. It was a touchy subject with Camille, but Calum didn't want to argue. "You'd just better text them to remind them before they get too distracted."

Cher stopped to read the text from Camille when she felt Ashton come up behind her, his hands on her waist, his body pressing into hers.

"We're in public," she whispered trying to wiggle away.

"So what?" he smirked reaching in his pocket.

Cher gasped as he clicked a button on a remote and the bullet vibrator he'd demanded she wear came buzzing to life.

"Ashton I swear if you make me squirt in this store I will kill you," Cher hissed trying not to moan.

"Say that properly this time," he dug his fingers hard into her hip.

"Please Daddy, I don't wanna make a mess," her voice was low and breathy and Ashton realized he was as turned on as she was.

He clicked off the remote until they got a few aisles over and she was standing next to a couple of ladies perusing the different kinds of pasta sauce.

Click

The two ladies glanced at Cher as she made a weird noise. She grimaced and said "sorry, back spasms."

They nodded and the older lady launched off into a lecture about home remedies and why Western medicine was a scam.

Ashton let her get so close before turning it off again.

When the ladies walked away Cher glared at him before throwing him a wink and walking away.

Ashton cursed under his breath, suddenly finding his pants far too tight.

Cher made sure to get everything on Camille's list and cat stuff despite Ashton's constant distractions. Soon they were headed home Ashton was driving with one hand on the wheel, and the other steadily creeping up her thigh. Cher was playing on her phone pretending to ignore him. He switched on the vibe, first on low wanting to see her react. When she didn't he increased the speed until she was squirming in her seat.

"Please, don't wanna cum yet," she whined earning her a smack on the thigh.

"Cross your legs and not another word," he commanded. She whimpered but she obeyed him and he continued driving. Little moans were escaping the back of her throat and her hips kept bucking despite her trying to keep control.

Ashton pulled over into a parking lot and grabbed a towel from the backseat.

"Pull your dress all the way up to your waist," he told her as he opened her legs.

His fingers were on her heat and combined with the vibe humming furiously her g spot she quickly felt herself toppling over the edge of bliss.

Ashton held the towel up as she gushed for him, her nails digging into his arm as she held herself back from screaming his name.

After Cher gave him a quick blowjob Ashton headed home. Calum and Camille were still on the couch discussing fault lines as Camille explained subduction zones. Cher loved the way Calum watched Camille when she got into what she called her "nerd self." He always seemed interested in whatever history or science topic she was currently into. It helped that Camille could make almost any subject entertaining. Cher almost tripped over the cat carrying groceries to the kitchen. She left out the cake ingredients so that Camille could work on a care package for Luke. Poor Luke, she thought, why does shit like that have to happen to such a nice guy.

Calum perched himself on the edge of the counter watching her cook. She was making red beans and rice with ham for dinner, but before that she had to prepare cold food for tomorrow's lunch. She made potato salad before starting on the chicken and egg salad. Camille hated egg salad but Calum loved it so she made it just for him. She made red velvet cupcakes going out for a smoke and a glass of wine while they were in the oven. Calum pulled her onto his lap stealing the joint from her and taking a puff. He pressed it back to her lips, she took a deep drag making her cough. He felt himself stiffen up as she jiggled against him. His lips found her neck and she melted into him.

They were rudely interrupted by a phone call from Michael to Calum. Luke was crashing with him and Crystal tonight, and being surrounded by three dogs at once had finally cheered Luke up a bit. Michael told Calum that he should come by with Camille the next day. Luke needed to see him, and maybe they could all get past this. Calum knew Luke didn't blame him, but with the hurt and the anger he just needed space away from his friend.

Cher had gone over to Ashton's after dinner wanting to finish what they'd started earlier and not have to be quiet. Camille was trying to find something to watch but Calum wouldn't keep his hands to himself. The commotion woke Duke up and Calum found himself cockblocked by his own dog.

Later that night after they were completely alone Calum was between her legs with her thick thighs slung over his shoulders. He was playing his favorite game "guess what I'm spelling" as he traced letters with his tongue on and through her wetness. After he wrote "I love you" on her skin Camille moaned "I love you too, baby." Calum responded by sliding two fingers inside of her. By the time Camille regained any clear thought she couldn't feel her legs and Calum had gone outside for a cigarette.

Cher saw the orange glow in the darkness before she actually saw Calum. She hadn't really needed to come outside to smoke, Ashton was dead to the world and he didn't mind the smell. She just needed to get out of his space for a minute. She knew going home in the middle of the night would raise too many questions, but she also knew she wouldn't be getting any sleep anyways. Normally Ashton left her satisfied and sleepy, but that was before she found the little box with a diamond ring tucked away in a drawer.

Camille arrived at Luke's door with a basket of sandwiches and goodies with Calum a couple steps behind her. Luke answered, looking tired and sad, but better than he had a week ago. He hugged Camille the way he always did, having to bend down to wrap himself completely around her. Calum was her love, but Luke was her best friend out of the guys, her little peanut.

Three weeks ago the guys had flown to New York City for a quick promo tour. The guys schedule was so insane that most of the girlfriends had stayed home, with Summer and Luke the only couple on the trip. Her boss was a photographer the band was working with for a magazine cover. Nobody questioned it as Summer tagged along on most trips, camera in hand. This trip started off well, but on the second day the two of them were sniping at each other. Luke's relationship had always been up and down, but their relationship had seemed solid until the final night before they were to return to California.

They'd gone out drinking at a karaoke bar. The beginning of the night everyone was cheerful and laughing, but soon things got messy. Summer caught Calum texting on his phone and snatched it away from him. She started playing on his phone dancing away from him when he tried to get it back. Luke was kind of laughing along until she tucked it into her bra and told Calum to "come and get it."

Things got even more awkward when Calum refused and sat there clearly annoyed. Luke got up and tried to get the phone back but she refused.  Whining at him "I want Calum to get it,"  she dodged his hands, pouting the whole time. "Want Calum," she repeated and Luke and Calum both turned red. Summer tried to tuck the phone into her jeans, but she was clumsy drunk and almost dropped it. This allowed Michael to grab it and toss it to Calum. Summer burst into tears and she ran out, with Luke following close behind.

That gave the night a weird vibe, but none of them were in any hurry to return to the hotel. They hung out for a bit, some fans stopped by and chatted for a while. By the time they wandered down to an all night pizza place they all had a decent buzz going and the mood had picked up. They began sending cheesy pick up lines and thirst trap pics to their girls. Calum getting a bit of attention from some girls when he removed his jacket to flex his biceps for Camille while Ashton filmed.

When they got back they heard shouting from Luke's room. Ashton went to check on them, while the other two went to bed. Calum stripped down to his skivvies and crawled into bed hoping the room wouldn't spin. Calum didn't know how long he'd been out when he heard knocking, actually.. banging, on his hotel room door. He threw on a shirt and cracked the door to find Summer standing there in tears.

Calum tried to be kind and invited her in, fumbling for his phone to text Ashton or Luke, he wasn't sure which. Next thing he knew Summer had thrown herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him anywhere her lips could find. Stunned Calum tried to back away, that turned out to be a mistake as the bed hit the back of his knees and he fell back. They both tumbled backwards with her on top of him. Now she was tugging at his shirt and his waistband talking a mile a minute, "I feel horrible but I told Luke I wasn't in love with him. That I wanted someone else. I've been in love with you, Calum, for ages now. I love you so much, you just don't understand," Calum pushed her off of him and jumped off the bed.

"Wait, Calum, baby, pretty please," she was desperate and grabbed his hand. "I need you, I can treat you better. I'm not boring and I'm better looking."

"Enough," Calum shouted, startling her into silence. "This is not happening. You need to leave." He texted Ashton, afraid to talk to Luke at that moment. Calum had no idea what kind of nonsense she'd said to Luke,or how bad this was going to be.

He headed for the door when Summer ran in front of him, "please just stay with me tonight. You can have me any way you want. I'll do anything you ask, just please don't go." Calum was not impressed by this offer.

There was a knock and Calum had to find a way to open it without physically shoving her aside. He found Michael, their manager and the hotel concierge standing in the hallway.

The concierge wrapped his arm around Summer's shoulders leading her away with a gentle manner and absolute authority. Their manager told them he'd see she got another room for the night and a different flight home.

After they left Mikey informed Calum that Ashton was with Luke, who was completely devastated and quite drunk. Summer had broken up with Luke and while they were fighting confessed that she'd been in love with Calum the whole time. The flight home was awkward, everyone was tired and on edge. Calum was relieved that Camille had taken everything so well. Not that she wasn't furious and ready to "slap the shit out of that green eyed demon whore," but she wasn't mad at him.

Luke was a different story. He wasn't angry, but kept his distance from Cal. He told Camille it hurt to think of being with her and the whole time she was into Calum. Camille set up a little picnic on Luke's living room floor , settling in between the two guys. Petunia sprawled out next to Luke, Miss P hadn't left his side since he got home. Camille kept the conversation flowing, asking them questions about the new music they were recording, and the trip Luke and Ashton were taking back to Australia for a couple weeks. The guys started to relax and chat a bit.

Luke stopped, sighed and began, "Listen, Cal….I need to apologise."

Calum cut him off, "Mate there's no need for that, I get it."

Luke nodded and pushed his plate away, but Camille noticed he'd eaten two sandwiches and a cupcake. That was progress.

"It's weird how once the bubble pops you see all the warning signs, and little shit you overlooked before because you wanted to make it work," Luke mused.

"I personally found her tiresome and I think her work is overrated," Camille rolled her eyes.

Her phone rang and Camille snatched it up thinking it must be work, everyone else texts.

She frowned when she saw it was the security desk at the front gate.

"Sorry to bother you Miss Camille," she recognized Dale the security guards voice. "We have a man here insisting on being let in," he paused his voice muffled as he spoke to the person he was calling about. "Claims he has legal documents for Miss Cher."

Camille shivered as a chill swept over her, "what's his name?"

Muffled voices and Camille heard "Barett," and she interrupted "Dale, did you say Benjamin Barett?"

"Yes ma'am," he replied.

"I'm on my way right now," Camille hit end and leapt up startling both guys and dogs.

Calum scrambled to his feet, "What's going on? Who's here? I'm coming with you."

Camille shook her head,"you can't, he's gonna be an asshole to me and I don't need you cracking his jaw."

"WHO?" both Luke and Calum all but shouted question at her.

"Cher's husband, he's tracked her down," Camille answered.

@wildhearthood @babygirlcashton @kiiiimberlyriiiicker1995 @vfdsstuff @unabashedlymyself @5sos-ficssmut @rosettesofhappiness

[shuuenka-writes]

Twilight Zone [2.]

Pairing: Harada Sanosuke x Reader

Summary: For better or for worse you were entangled in a “more than friends less than lovers” zone for as long as you could remember.  But can words be left unspoken forever?

A/N: This is probably the most self-indulgent thing I wrote in my life and I wrote a tons of it before. Alas, nobody deserves Harada. Also I have another fic idea for Harada, but I'm already so busy ahhh....I hope you enjoy

___********________

'If you got married would you like to be spoiled like a princess?"

"Shinpachi-san, why do you always ask the most random questions?"

You weren't even a part of this conversation in the first place, and honestly you had literally no idea what Shinpachi could have meant.

The day of yours started as usual. You brewed your gradfather a tea and made a breakfast for you. You ate in usual silence. Mostly because your grandfather was half deaf and talking to him would involve raising your voice. But it wasn't an unpleasant atmosphere – in fact it was quite enjoyable. Silent morning before hustle of daily work. Also because today there was a couple coming in to talk about wedding kimono design, for which you were excited. But the fact remained that you worked with few brides before and they could be exhausting.

Before the couple arrived you went through the letters that arrived. Most of which were strictly business related. But one of them made you extra happy. It was a letter from your friend, quite unconventional one. Hana-chan was an courteasan at Shimabara and ever since you made a few kimonos for her, she kept talking with you through letters. Since she couldn't leave the red light district the only way for you two to talk was through the letters or once in a while your visits to fetch new kimono. You skimmed over the letter and quickly replied. She wished for new kimono and if you were honest embroidering courtesan kimonos was one of your favorite things to do. You could go all out with finesse and glamour to make every new kimono even more outstanding that the earlier. Of course, it took time, blood and sweat to finish one, but in all honesty the satisfaction was worth it. Also it meant, that you'd be able to see Hana face to face after almost a year of just writing letters.

You hadn't expected the Shinsengumi appearing. Today at least. The infamous trio and the new addition to the team made themselves home just as you were talking with the future bride.

They were here to see how your work on the Shinsengumi haori was going. Right. The very reason you were even involved with the Wolves of Mibu was the fact that your shop provided the haori's for the soldiers. Few years ago, as they appeared in Kyoto they made a request at your grandfather shop for a bunch of blue haori's. As your shop was quite well known, it was only natural for them to come here. Even if at main shop only you and your grandfather worked, you had a few other shops and workspaces throughout Kyoto. It was better than just keeping it all in one closed space, and besides – your home was in the back.

At that time your neither you or grandfather knew what kind of people they were and readily agreed to the offer. Well, later your grandfather came to have rather unpleasant opinion on them, but in all honesty you didn't harbor any bad feelings towards the Shinsengumi. Might have it been innocence and naivety of yours that allowed you to become friends with some of them. And you didn't regret in slightest.

And now they requested for haori's but inverted colors. Night uniform's as you heard. Your grandfather agreed, although with some recultance. He was a follower of shogunate, that much was true, but just as any civil from Kyoto he was apprehensive to idea of bunch of not-really-samurai's going around the city. Money is what got him agree.

As you mulled over the idea you turned to your guests, ''I need to stay in the back for a while, so I guess you guys can just sit and wait, until I'm finished," you said to your guests. ''I got bride waiting for me!"

''Sure!" Harada waved at you.

The guests were left to their own business and in all honesty, what were they to do alone in dressmaker shop?

''Humm, so many couples going around lately," Shinpachi hummed.

''Are you jealous?" Heisuke teased, sitting down on the bench.

''What would I be jealous about?" he snarked, as if Heisuke was spouting utter nonsense.

Harada laughed a bit and chimed in, ''You wouldn't know how to get a wife in a first place."

''I'm perfectly capable of getting myself a wife," came a swift reply.

''He means one not from Shimabara and for one night," the youngest of the three said.

Shinpachi sent him a small glare. One person that still haven't said anything was Chizuru. She honestly had no idea why she tagged along with them, other that it was probably good idea to see if her father maybe appeared. She was also curious about this person who owned the shop. She met her only once, when the woman patched her sleeve few weeks ago. She seemed to be rather familiar with the men and not in slightest apprehensive to them.

''And also,'' Heisuke continued. ''I don't think you'd know how to treat your wife."

"Cut it off already Heisuke," Shinpachi replied, impatience slipping into his voice.

''Why do you think so?" Chizuru piped in. She was tad bit curious.

Heisuke smiled back at her.

''Take Sano for example," he pointed at red head, who instantly raised his brews at him. Why did this conversation was still ongoing seemed beyond him. ''His wife would be spoiled and treated as princess."

"Oh," Chizuru nodded her head. It seemed probable.

''Why would you spent so much money on a woman though?" Shinpachi chimed in, his arms crossed on his chest. He didn't look entirely clueless, as the two others made him seem to be.

''All women deserve being spoiled and treated with respect, Shin," Harada said with conviction.

Shinpachi hummed, not convinced about being spoiled part. He turned to Chizuru and asked her whether or not she'd like to be pampered like so. Her face went a tad bit pinkish at the proposition.

''Not at all, it would be too much," she said, her usual humble demeanor playing out.

Out of the second room sound of voices increased. It seemed the business talk was coming to an end.

On your side of happenings you shared a tea with the couple and talked about the wedding kimono. You showed them a few sketches of various kimonos you kept in your drawer. The bride was quick to decide which one would she like, with few adjustments. After this you said goodbye to the couple and shared a goodbye at the doors.

Smiling you sat down by your guests with a sketchbook in your hands.

''You look excited,'' Harada noticed, nibbing at the dango they all ate.

''I am!" you nodded. ''It's been awhile since I made a wedding kimono, especially one with embroidery," you showed him the sketchbook. There was a drawing of a woman kimono with cranes in the lower part of material. ''Its' going to be really pretty!"

Harada nodded to your enthusiasm. You always appreciated that he would listen and be generally encouraging to you. You didn't have much people to talk that would listen to you gushing about such trivial matters. There was your childhood friend Kiyo and his twin sister Kino that would visit you once in a while. But Kiyo couldn't be bothered with seams and only Kino was happy to talk with you. And all excitement couldn't be possibly converted into letters to Hana.

You mentally started preparing your shop list as you stood up and went for a measurement string. You sat down behind Harada and reached under his arms.

''Raise your arms for me, please," you chirped. He sent you a questioning look, the same that his companions shared. ''I didn't take your measurements for a while, and since new batch of Shinsengumi haori's is coming, I want to make some adjustments."

''Oh, I see," he nodded. ''But can't you do a standard measurement?"

"You are my standard."

Harada chuckled at your words. You took the measurements and wrote them down. Also a tiny idea lit up in your mind, but you stored it for later.

''Hmm," you tapped your cheek as you finished. You listed items you'll need for the wedding kimono aloud, ''I think I'll have to make a trip downtown then."

''For the material? Don't they bring it to you?" Heisuke piped in.

''They do, but it's better to do an order yourself," you replied. "Also, there is a pretty shop with obi ornaments and they sell there nice ribbons!"

You clapped your hands. You liked to make orders yourself, mostly because you could go through the city and look what shops and crams had in store. Even if you never bought any for yourself, you just liked to browse through all the pretty things. Sometimes women who bought kimono's from your shop would come for an advice so this way you also could be helpful.

''Would you like a ribbon from there, _____?" Harada asked.

''Hm? No, no. It's not for me," you laughed. ''I want them for the bride."

"It seems you hardly buy yourself pretty things though."

You looked up at him in curiosity, ''do I? I'm already surrounded by pretty things."

You didn't lie – all around on the shelves going up to the ceiling there were elaborate materials in all every color one could want. Patterned kimonos, plain, embroidered. Obi stashes and some ribbons. All what you'd wish to wear was here. Pretty and glamorous things.

''But what of it is yours?"

You looked over at your shop. Your gaze fell onto small aquarium with a single golden fish inside. It was your grandfathers fish. You never thought your pet would be goldfish, but you loved the animal anyway. You were never allowed to have any pet for yourself. Your grandfather hated cats and dogs altogether. Birds were also out of question, since they would leave mess after themselves. This fish previously belonged to your uncle, brother of your mother. Since he moved to Edo, he left the pet behind and you were one to take care of it. Well, as much as you can take care of a fish.

Pretty thing, living just by eating and flowing through the threads of time, not seeing much of the world. Surrounded by many other pretty things.

''I have my box of pins and needles,'' you offered. Harada rolled his eyes. You shrugged in reply and sipped your tea. It was enough that this little box was precious to you.

You looked over at the other three, and what surprised you was intense gaze Shinpachi was giving you. Your brew rose unintentionally, and the question of his was fired, leaving you truly baffled.

''If you got married would you like to be spoiled like a princess?"

"Shinpachi-san, why do you always ask the most random questions?" you managed after a moment. Harada had a moment of mental crisis as he run over his hand through his red locks.

You were far from thinking of marriage, no matter how much Kiyo's mother was hinting things at you. You thought of other people of marriageable age and you instantly thought of Kino. True, you saw Shinpachi once talking to her. But for her to leave such a impression on him was unheard of.

''Do you have a woman in mind?" you asked cautiously. Would Kino accept him? You doubted so.

''What? Of course not!" Shinpachi waved his arms. He looked a tad bit flustered, especially since Heisuke was already beginning to laugh.

''Is it Kino?" you asked bluntly.

''Oh my gosh, _____, please," Harada snorted.

''Who?" Shinpachi looked lost.

You gave him a stern look, ''I'm sorry Shinpachi-san, but I don't think Kino would be interested in marrying you."

''I don't want to marry anyone!"

''Shinpachi,'' Harada turned to him, ''only you can be rejected even before asking."

Honestly speaking, you had no idea what was going on. But it was always like this, wasn't it? Shinpachi or Heisuke shooting some random questions, your blunt answers, and Harada's quips. You were always thankful for their presence and making your daily life so enjoyable. You never imagined that you could have friends like this.

''So do you need help tomorrow?" Harada turned to you, evoking your conversation, before it was cut.

''I'm just going to take a look and order materials," you replied.

''Great, then I'm tagging along."

''Are you sure you don't have anything else to do?" you asked. One would think they'd be more busy.

''I don't have rounds tomorrow, so I'm free."

''Could be fun," you concluded, giving him a nod.

To your surprise Harada actually came next morning. Not that you'd think he was dishonest, but you two never went out together. Other than sometimes accidental meeting up in the city or him just coming by to stop by your shop. By that time you thought you actually knew most of 10th division, which was kinda hilarious in its own way. Bunch of scary looking samurai off or on duty sometimes calling out 'good morning' to you was really startling for you at the beginning.

"Hi!" you breathed as you saw him outside your doors.

''Ready to go?"

''Yes!"

Overall it was quite an experience to see Harada without his Shinsengumi haori in broad daylight. There was no one tugging around with him – you expected Shinpachi or Heisuke alongside. To your delight he was alone. Not that you minded presence of those two, but a premise of spending morning with Harada sent butterflies in your stomach. And this was a feeling you were gladly welcoming.

You walked side by side, step in step with each other. You couldn't help but appreciate the nice weather that accompanied you. Slowly city was waking up along with all sweet and sour smells that would hit your nostrils.

You glanced over at Harada, his auburn hair swaying in the soft wind. He was in good mood, you decided, seeing his gentle smile upon his lips. His smile was something that you liked the most. Especially if any of those smiles were directed at you.

You reached your destination way too quickly for your dismay. The shop you walked into was enormous – twice as big as yours. The clerk knew you very well, so the order went by quickly and you had time to share with Harada.

One thing that caught your attention was a kimono. Not kimono itself, but the pattern and embroidery. It was a sea. You walked closer to it and looked at the vast ocean-blue material. The threads flowed like a water on it, creating a waves of blue and white. Small flowers were added alongside, making it almost a landscape.

''You like it?" Harada appeared behind you, surprising you a bit.

''I like the pattern," you replied still looking at the kimono. ''I would love to see the sea someday. Harada-san, have you ever been at sea?"

He tapped his chin as he hummed, ''We arrived to Kyoto with ships, so yes.''

''Tell me about it," your eyes lit up.

You slowly walked out of the shop and onto the street, as Harada recounted his travel by the sea.

''It must've been such a beautiful sight,'' you sighed in wonder.

Sea was always a mystery to you. You've seen pictures, you heard the stories; but living in this part of Kyoto you had no chances to be able to see it. It made you wonder what did it mean to soak your toes in salty water, how would it be to walk alongside vast and never-ending seashore. What did the seagulls sounded like?

''It is, especially on sunset, when the suns goes over the horizon," Harada quipped. ''I'd love to take you there someday."

He walked over a stand with hair accessories and ribbons. You followed him, yet still in daydream about the sea. He picked up one of the ribbons and moved his hand towards your face. You followed his movement with a curious gaze.

He smiled down at you, and with such closeness, your height difference was apparent. He tied ocean-blue ribbon into your hair to your utter surprise.

''What are you doing?" you questioned, your heart fluttering.

''You wished for nice ribbons yesterday, did you not?"

Your eyes widened.

''Ah, it was just passing remark,'' you spoke, untying the ribbing from your hair. You kept it in your hands as you continued to speak, in spite of his confused gaze, ''I'm not in need of them, but thank you for the gesture."

''Does it matter whether or not you need one?" he asked stopping your hand from putting the ribbon back on the stand. His warm hand enveloped your smaller one.

''At shop I have few, looking at them is just enough," you managed.

''You should spoil yourself much more," he stated. ''it's a present from me, you won't accept it?"

You pursed your lips a bit. It wasn't like you didn't like it, but somehow your mind worked differently. You spoke up, ''can I really?"

''Of course.''

This was sweet of him, and that much you told him. You hardly got presents, there weren't many people to give you any in the first place. You were creator, not receiver. But well, the warmth his gesture caused to spread was feeling one in a million.

''Harada-san?''

''Yeah?"

"Thank you," you said. His smile spread, as he paid for the item that he once again tied into your hair. Were it a sweet food, a ribbon or anything he'd give you, you'd be happy just as much as you were now. Harada was truly making your daily life happier.

Yet next time you saw him you didn't anticipate, than you'd be accompanying him to Shimabara.

[queerchoicesblog]

London Calling (TS, Kaitlyn x MC)

As I promised, here’s the Kaitlyn x MC fic I wrote about last week. This is more a...songfic? That’s how they call them? Anyway songs play a huge role here and helped me sketch the structure of it as well as inspired the whole concept. In this regard, a special thank you goes to my lovely friend @kinda-iconic who provided help and suggestions for what then became the Hayley (MC) section: it was brilliant, beanie!

So, my entry for the Choice Prompt of the @choices-december-challenge is a TS fanfic showing what made Kaitlyn flight to her girl. As Hayley is heartbroken in her London apartment, in NYC Kaitlyn finally opens up to Amara about her breakup with her aspirant writer girlfriend.

Prompt: Choice

Word Count: 2325

Warning: This fic contains bad words; also tissue warning (don’t know if you’ll need it but I needed my tissue box writing this)

Tag: @darley1101 @esteladannishreyakamilah @kennaxval @choiceslife @psychopathdreamer21 @bluedragonlove 

_____________________

Hey there, Delilah What's it like in New York City? I'm a thousand miles away But, girl, tonight you look so pretty Yes, you do Times Square can't shine as bright as you I swear, it's true

Tears streamed down Hayley's cheeks as she listened to Hey There, Delilah. She was sitting on her bed checking her social media when a post caught her attention. It was a selfie Kaitlyn posted hours ago: she was smiling brightly at the camera in a nighttime Times Square and the caption said "On top of the world! #timeofmylife #newyorkmagic #dreamscometrue #midnightmayhemstardomcalling". She was utterly beautiful: the new professional haircut suited her and the night lights waltzing in her dark eyes made her look mesmerizing. Hayley instinctively reached to put a like to the post and a corny comment but refrained herself just in time. "No, I...I can't. We aren't-" a sob escaped her at the thought of their breakup.

"She's living her dream and I'm no longer part of it. I just have to let my rockstar go, she's...she looks happy without me. And she's not mine anymore".

She collapsed on her pillow, trying to silence her own sobs. She angrily reached for her laptop where the song was playing and shut it down. Then she stared blankly at it as she carelessly tossed her phone on the armchair.

"Enough with it. I need to get some sleep or else tomorrow I'll be late for my interview" she repeated to herself mechanically, as if it was a line of a script she played merely out of habit.

She went back to bed and closed her eyes, taking deep breaths to calm herself down. But her wounds didn't seem to heal.

Oh, it's what you do to me What you do to me

-------- Miles away, in an underground New York cafè another tune was playing.

Staring at the bottom of your glass Hoping one day you'll make a dream last But dreams come slow and they go so fast

You see her when you close your eyes Maybe one day you'll understand why Everything you touch surely dies

Kaitlyn was sitting in a corner booth, arms crossed and staring coldly at the table.

"This song is old, aren't they tired of this shit?" She commented harshly.

Amara, who was sitting in front of her, threw her a concerned look.

"C'mon, this song is not shit, Kaitlyn. It's not my style too but it's not that bad...and it's not what gets on your nerves".

Kaitlyn looked at her.

"Really? So what is it? Enlighten me".

Amara exhales deeply, pinching her nose.

"Kait...I'm worried about you".

Kaitlyn furrowed her brows, confused.

"Because I don't like the Passenger? I mean, we're a punk rock band, it's not that surprising-".

"Kait, I care about you and I like to think we're good friends so can you drop the act, please?".

"Drop the act? What are you talking about?".

Amara gave her a sympathetic yet concerned look.

"You haven't even touched your donut nor your coffee and you're the worst donuts & coffee addict I've ever known. We're living the dream of our lives in New York, New York, baby, with Overnight Records and something is off with you. You smile, you party with us but you're somehow...distant. Not your usual self. Even when you sing: you nail every note, but something is missing. You're missing".

"You're not happy with how I perform lately? Cause I can-".

But Amara cut her off.

"I'm not happy with how you pretend to be okay when it's clear and understandable that you're not! You should feel like touching the sky but you're not. Try and tell me I'm wrong".

"Do you think I don't understand the opportunity we got? That I'm ungrateful? Amara, chill! I'm having a blast! This is like the best thing that could ever happen to me, to us! It's a dream come true and I couldn't ask for anything better. We're making it big, my friend, I feel it!".

Kaitlyn smiled and took a sip of her coffee, but her gesture, her smile looked somehow forced. Seeing that she was getting nowhere since the walls her friend built were stronger than she thought, Amara decided to try a more direct approach.

"So I was wrong, well good to know." She paused, but just to put the stress on what she was gonna say next. "How's Hayley doing? Does she like London?"

Kaitlyn threw her an angry look, like a wounded animal.

"I haven't heard from her since she left. She must be busy with her new job" she hissed, looking away. A pained expression appeared on your face as she spoke.

"Job? Last time I checked it was just an interview-"

Kaitlyn immediately turned to her, an almost desperate tone cracked her voice.

"Only a fool wouldn't hire her, Amara! She's so freaking talented, haven't you read her book? You were at the Fringe Festival too: is there any other way to describe her dystopia other than "a fucking masterpiece not even Margaret Atwood herself could do any better"? No, she's born for that. Writing, it's like a second skin to her. Even if it's just for a ghost-writer book. She will nail it and they will ask her to publish a novel of her own and she will be the bestselling published author she deserves to be".

Amara raised an eyebrow to her.

"So you're totally okay that she's on silent radio ever since she left".

Kaitlyn shattered her jaw.

"She went her way and I went mine, Amara. Where one would go, the other couldn't follow so we did what we had to. What the hell would you want me to say?".

"That you're hurting. You don't have to put on the brave face with me, Kait, we're friends and if it happened to me and Darren I would be devastated-".

"Yeah but Darren followed you to London and found an internship in Albany, luckily enough. You just can't relate, Amara. Don't you even try that card" she cut her off coldly.

Amara hanged her head in defeat.

"I'm sorry, Kait. I didn't mean to upset you even more by mentioning Darren" she gave her friend a genuinely pained look. "I'm truly sorry, I'm just...Kait, I care about you and I can't stay here watching you hurting as hell and telling everyone you're having the best time of your life when it's bullshit!".

Kaitlyn diverted her eyes like a scolded kid. Amara took a deep breath to calm herself down and spoke again.

"She didn't even answer to your message then?".

Kaitlyn shook her head.

"No, she was clearly busy. Or she simply doesn't care anymore".

"I don't think she doesn't care...I mean at the Festival you two were so in love as-".

"WE BROKE UP, AMARA".

Kaitlyn raised her voice, making some customers nearby turn their heads. Amara gave them an apologetic look and gestured to that the show was over.

"Okay, okay...just don't shout, huh? You mentioned that you had a fight?".

"Yeah, I came home and announced her that we signed a contract with Overnight Records in New York, the world tour and all and she stood there like 'oh good for you'. So I said 'is something wrong?' She said 'I had something yo tell you too, I got an interview for this job in London but I wanted to talk with you first and what? You decided everything on your own'. But what should I have done, Amara? What? I'm in a band, I couldn't just say 'nope sorry girls my girlfriend is not okay with me moving to New York, abort the whole thing'? That would be nonsense!".

Amara considered her friend's words carefully.

"No, you couldn't...but I don't get it, what did you say to Hayley then? I mean she got an offer too, right?".

"Yes, but writing is different, right? I suggested her to come here with me. I mean, she gushes over New York all the time: the literary scene, the museums, the theatres...now, when I say: 'okay, let's go there together, I play in the band and you can maybe write about us' all of a sudden it's the worst idea ever!".

"You said so? Maybe you can write about us?".

"Yeah, like behind-the-scenes. If we make it big, it could give her a head start too! But apart from that, every aspirant writer wants to go to NY because there are so many opportunities or inspiration here!".

"Hmm...how would you feel if she suggested you to follow her to London cause London music scene is so lively you would surely find a band there? That singers can sing everywhere after all and you would have your muse with you?".

"But I'm in a band already! And Overnight Records is based in New York!".

"And Quillis in London. Kait, Hayley is a huge fan of us but maybe just maybe she doesn't want her career to revolve around us, around you. And I can't blame her, honestly: anyone would feel trapped. As you would have felt if she'd you asked to write songs about her in London. In both scenarios, you would have hated each other for the rest of your lives, probably. But" - she paused looking into Kaitlyn's eyes- "you know that too".

This time Kaitlyn hanged her head before speaking again.

"I know. That's why I didn't object much. This is how it must naturally end, apparently...you see it yourself. None of us wanted to become one of those couples full of resentment and self-pity who spend their day accusing each other of ruin their life. But..." -she sniffled and that's when Amara noticed a tear streaming down her friend's cheek- "But the truth is that it hurts and my dream now, here is less 'the time of my life' without her with me. I mean, with me even if she's an ocean away, but...mine".

Amara reached to reassuringly stroke Kaitlyn's arm.

"It's okay, sweetie, let it all out if you need to. We can leave if you-"

Kaitlyn gestured her that it wasn't necessary.

"No no, it's fine" she said sniffling again.

Amara quickly handed her a napkin to dry her face.

"Here, take this...Listen, I couldn't help but notice how you put it down into words: 'with me even if she's an ocean away'. Maybe this is what you really want-".

"Who cares what I want, Amara? It's over".

"Let me finish...and the possible solution to this".

Kaitlyn gave her a quizzical look.

"I articulate. I know that what I'm gonna say it's not easy: not gonna lie, it made many relationships sink, but I strongly believe that if something is worth fighting for it, you should go for it. Have you ever considered a long distance relationship?" Amara asked, biting her lip.

"I-" Kaitlyn started but stopped, unable to express her feelings.

"Wanna know what I think about your breakup, Kait?".

When her friend bashfully nodded, she spoke again.

"I feel that Hayley is hurting too, just like you. You both post fake happy social media status to keep the face but you're both regretting this already. I know Hayley a little too, she shut people out when she's hurting. She already did when you started with The Gutter Kittens and everybody was drifting apart in your suite, you remember? She isolates herself and tries to mend her wounds on her own before opening up again. Like you do, by the way. You're pretty similar here. And you're both inclined to make bad decisions out of fear. But when you let fear take the best of you, you don't really choose. She chooses, not you nor Hayley. You just run, just as she did jumping on a plane to London. But shut up that fucking fear! The truth is it doesn't have to be this way. You can at least try and fix this instead of well metaphorically bleeding you out because of some stupid pride. We may be making it big but you're too young to have regrets like this, Kait. The same goes for Hayley".

Kaitlyn blinked at her a few time before exhaling sharply and drying the last tear on her face. She cleared her voice and turn to her friend, encouragingly looking at her.

"I know what I'm gonna do, Amara".

She smiled weakly.

"You're right. I don't want to live with a regret like this. And Kaitlyn Liao may be stubborn but she doesn't go down without a fight" - she paused before adding - "I'm going to London".

"What? That's not what I meant! And...and we have a meeting with the producers right on Monday, then the sponsor-".

"Not permanently, obviously!" - Kaitlyn reassured her - "I just need to talk to Hayley. But I need to do it like face to face. I have to...at least try, Amara. I've made a mess and the least I could do is trying to fix it. Hayley...is worth fighting for".

Amara opened her mouth to say something but just smiled softly at her.

"Okay, Kait...I'll cover for you, if needed, just -I hate to say this after what you...just come back as soon as possible. But I'm with you: go get your girl".

Kaitlyn mouthed a thank you and reached to hug her. Amara squeezed her back then said:

"Now, eat your donut then we go straight to get you a ticket to London and pack your stuff. Then Darren and I are gonna drive you to the airport whenever the first flight is, okay girl?".

Kaitlyn smiled, looking a little bit relieved and taking a huge bite of her donut.

At that moment, a new tune started playing on the cafe radio and the girls giggled.

"If you were looking for a sign, Kait, this is it!" Amara commented.

The song was London Calling.

[httpsung]

A Series of Monsters

pairing: reader x jungkook x jimin x yoongi

genre: thriller, supernatural/mythological monsters! au

word count: 3,924

note: it’s been a while since I’ve worked on something new so my feelings are a bit mixed with posting this, feedback is greatly appreciated! Tagging @jungee

description: the beginning of all things unexplainable happens the one night you decide to live for once...

The typical chitter-chatter of young adults soothed his ears the moment he entered the halls of his campus. The conversations, usually dull and not of his taste proved to be comforting this time as he sauntered his way to his classroom. Those meaningless words spoken by his peers were ten times better than the hissing of voices that raked his mind every now and then, whispering chilling declarations of someone’s impending death, which could invoke a scream so piercing to claw its way out of his throat if he let them get the best of him.

They’ll die soon.

But why should he care? He was often late to the scene of the crime, the voices in his mind leading him too many times too late to save anyone from an unsightly end. So why listen? Especially if he was no help at all and especially when he could live without seeing an excessive amount of blood. “Jungkook over here!” His eyes lifted to meet a male who called out to him, just down the hall near the classroom he frequented three times a week. This person might be the only one in his two years of attending university that he called friend.

“Hey.” He answered back with a wave of his hand. Jungkook’s lips began to tilt into a small smile, only to drop when he felt a body crash into him accidentally, losing their balance and scattering to pick up their things.

His dark irises settled on the girl who quickly apologized and hurried off, her features burning into his mind with a sharp twinge digging at his heart. Something wasn’t right.

“Hey Jungkook you okay man?” His friend now behind him asked, hand resting on Jungkook’s shoulder to get his attention. “Oh, yeah…I’m good.” He lied, turning away from her figure that continued to rush in the distance, ignoring the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

It was at least two hours into the morning and he’s in his second lecture of the day, eyes glazed over and fixated on a quick sketch that had his heart pounding at the scene he’d subconsciously drawn.

There she was, the girl from earlier lying on a bed helplessly bloodied with two dark figures representing the culprits of her death, and here it was the harbingering yell aching to tear through his lips, signifying a death soon to come. Jungkook immediately stood from his seat, the metallic sound of his chair scraping against the hard-wooden floor interrupting his professor’s words and drawing attention to him as he hurried out the door to the nearest bathroom as if to hold in vomit or something viler, threatening to escape.

Swallowing back something hard Jungkook let go ragged breaths, shaky hands gripping the edge of a marbled sink while he gathered his composure. Beads of sweat formed along his forehead, salty droplets trickling down his nose. This may have been the worst premonition he’s ever faced, a feeling more awful than the rest and one that motivated him to put forth an effort to change it. With his last deep exhale, he took a glimpse at himself in the mirror, guiding his nimble fingers over the reflection of his mouth which were in stitches, reminding him that no matter how much he tried to blend into this world he won’t be able to avoid his fate much longer.

You were prepared for the night to be like every other night in your apartment. Your roommate would be out with her friends studying as she liked to call it, though you knew she was partying it up and living a life you never imagined for yourself.

Your nights consisted of the same activities ever since you began college. It didn’t matter if homework came first or a nice shower, after it all you were going to end up on the couch with snacks aligned, enjoying some of your favorite animation and that was so much better than wasting the nights around people you had no interest in.

“Not tonight!” You heard the high-pitched voice of your roomie entering the living room, interrupting your show. She took in your appearance, hands on her hips, front teeth sinking into her lower lip. Your hair was a mess on top of your head, feet covered in big cozy slippers and over-sized pajamas hanging off your frame. It was a staring contest between the two of you until you decided to ask her what she meant with a raise of your brow and a bag of unopened chips fiddling between your fingers.

“Not tonight...?” You urged for her continue, the faster she told you what was up the faster you could get back to enjoying the television. “You’re coming out with us tonight Y/n… you promised to let loose for once and let me show you a good time.” She beamed at you with a grin you could never fully trust.

“I don’t recall.” Your answer was immediate, quick and cold as you plopped backwards onto a pillow, propping your slippers on the arm of the sofa. “You promised me last week!” She whined and stood in front of your face, fingers reaching for her cellphone with proof of the words you seemed to forget, seven days ago, to be exact.

You sat up, mouth settled to protest but the look she gave you and the constant replaying of your recorded words made you sigh and stand up without much of a fight. It looked as though tonight wasn’t going to be like every other night and surely you weren’t prepared for the events that were about to unfold. Within forty-five minutes you were staring at yourself in a mirror, seemingly unrecognizable thanks to the make-up you were wearing. It wasn’t heavy but just right, it was amazing how different you looked. If you were a different person you would enjoy getting dolled up more often, sporting petite dresses to keep the attention of others with maybe a guy or two following your every step. But you weren’t a different person and that was fine but at least for the night you could at least try to be.

“Where are we going exactly?” You spoke over several voices coming from your bedroom, your roommate and her friends waiting for you to exit, to get the show on the road and head out to god knows where. “A club!” There was one girl, too enthusiastic for her own good who answered you promptly and gushed over her next words. “There’s this night club, kind of sophisticated I must say with live music performed by the man of my dreams.” Her giggle had your eyes rolling. This wasn’t the first time you heard of such a place, your roomie regularly informed you about some guy singing at a club she liked, his voice making the gals go crazy though you doubted he was that good and assumed he was mediocre at best.

“Nice...” You tried to sound excited as you exited, receiving a thumbs-up of approval over your look before getting dragged out the front door in seconds. It hadn’t been a full ten minutes since you left your apartment and you were already missing the comfortable couch, wishing you didn’t have to sit crammed in a taxi full of strongly perfumed girls, to a setting you’ve only been to a couple times in your life and both weren’t great experiences. Before you knew it, you were losing track of how much time passed and becoming immersed in the city’s scenery. The dark sky was lit beautifully by skyscrapers peeks and the streets were bustling with bodies hurrying home or to dinner at the late hour.

“We’re here!”

You didn’t notice the car had stopped, your roommate disrupting your view as she waved for you to exit the cab while the rugged driver cleared his throat signaling for you leave as well.

“Thanks sir.” You sighed and stepped out, low heels clicking behind hurried ones, entering a nice establishment with a smooth melody of music grazing your ears.

There were a lot of people around, at the bar if not on the dance floor and you were thankful to find a lot of seats available, planting your butt into one of them as quick as you could. You were sure your roomie and her friends would wonder away from you as soon as possible but were pleasantly surprised to see them sit at the same table, calling over a bottle of alcohol to kick off the fun.

“The shows about to start.” She winked at you, handing over a glass of dark liquid. “Looking forward to it…” You lied, fixating your eyes on the stage and knocking out the bitter beverage in one gulp.

Ten minutes passed and you found yourself anticipating something to happen, there were so many women seated around you now and it made you curious to see what this performer was all about. You noticed a few ladies squirming in their seats before a tune began to play, a few on edge as if they were ready to pounce on the person about to take center stage. The sudden drop of lights in the venue left the room barely dim, startling you almost to the point of choking on your liquor. The subtle sound of a violin began to echo in the air, lingering beautifully while the strings of a guitar followed. A mess of lavender tresses is what you noticed first about him, well-designed clothing clinging to his body, shirt opened to give a tease of smooth olive flesh. You were expecting to lock on his eyes next but they were covered, completely blindfolded as he gripped the mic stand before him, licking his plump lips before singing.

Captivated, you were sure you wouldn’t be, he couldn’t have been that great from what all the other girls were saying, but you were wrong. His voice was like honey, it was suave and sweet but what you were most interested in was his eyes. What did they look like? He couldn’t perform the entire time blindfolded, could he? It was as if he read your mind because in seconds one hand of his gripped the velvety fabric and pulled it off, revealing a pair of blue irises that seem to glow. Your heart began to flutter, a rush of warmth heating up your typically cool demeanor. You were becoming entranced, just like everyone around you and it didn’t help that his eyes seem to linger on you alone.

It was odd to say you felt a connection so soon, but you did. It was strange that you were so influenced by his singing that you didn’t want him to stop and the thoughts of leaving with him raced through your mind. When his performance was over he simply smirked before exiting the stage swiftly, leaving the women to scream with applause. He was nowhere in sight but it was as if his voice was trapped in your head, keeping your heart jittering in your chest, making you long to see him once more.

“He was great, right?” You were nudged by your roommate who had the biggest grin as if she watched you become undone at the performance. “His name is Jimin by the way, he performs here almost every night.” She added as she stood to head off to the dance floor. “He was alright…” You finally replied though she probably didn’t hear you.

“Jimin...” His name rolled easily off the tip of your tongue, a name you could get use to saying repeatedly. You poured yourself what was left of the alcohol at your table, switching your view to the others in the building, a dark-haired fellow with a twisted smile coming into the view. It appeared he was looking straight at you and the moment you blinked he disappeared.

“May I sit here?” An unfamiliar voice asked from behind you, it was soft and had you turning around to meet Jimin himself, staring down at you with a pleasant smile on his lips.

“S-sure.” You stammered, cursing yourself in your head. Though he was right in front of you and speaking, you could still hear that song of his dancing in and out of your ears. “I’m Jimin... and you are?” He held his hand out to you once he was seated and you didn’t hesitate to accept it as if you had no control over your limb.

“Y/n…” You gave a light smile. “Lovely name, I haven’t seen you around before so I must say I’m a little intrigued by your presence.” He chuckled. His words made your heart skip a beat. “Are you saying you see the same women here all the time?” You asked with a raise of your brow. “Just about.” He sat back in his seat with a laugh, even that was melodic. Interesting.

You spent what seemed like forever conversing with Jimin, taking notice of every little action and gesture he made and whilst still hearing his song as if it was surrounding you and drawing you into him. After a few more drinks, you were surprised at yourself for accepting his invitation to leave the club and have some fun elsewhere. It was like you were in a trance, following behind him, his hand gently gripping yours, the environment around you fading to black.

It was easy.

Once again, he had hooked another victim and lured her away to become prey to him plus one more. She would be the most beautiful feast for his companion, the best-looking woman he had brought home to his temporary residence in a long time. It was a shame that such a stunning girl was about to meet her demise but it was against his nature if she didn’t. Jimin locked eyes with her vacant irises, they were a beautiful shade lacking a lot of light thanks to his little spell. Right now, she was lost in his voice, a beautiful song that sung sweet nothings into her ears without him parting his lips.

Nothing less from a siren. She would be trapped in a whirlwind of musical notes unless he decided otherwise.

“We’re almost there love.” He smirked, glancing out the window at the streets momentarily before settling his gaze back on her. She nodded of course, that was the most she could do while dazed.

The car ride ended and Jimin tipped the driver, he slipped his arm around her waist and guided her up several floors by elevator to his shared suite. “Here we are y/n…” Jimin simpered sliding his card key through the lock and pushing the door open for her to enter first. He was greeted by another male, dark-haired, pale skin and even darker eyes that were hungry.

“Didn’t take long right Yoongi?” Jimin grabbed her hand once again and led her to sit on a couch.

“Tch, you’re a minute too late…” Yoongi replied, his eyes fixed on the beauty before him. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, inhaling a scent. It was not of the sweet-scented perfume that wavered off her body but what lied inside her, a soul waiting to be his.

“She looks almost too good to eat.” Yoongi hummed as he approached her, slipping his finger under her chin and tilting her head upward just a bit. “Let’s have some fun darling, it’ll be quick.” He flashed her a gummy smile and she nodded, a muted yes slipping past her lips.

You were a puppet, that’s what it felt like, no control over your body, following your heart and lost the man that was Jimin. His voice was comforting as it sung to you, confirming that everything would be okay and that Yoongi was just as safe. Both men were beautiful, hypnotizing you with a pair of ominous black and fluorescent blue eyes. You were guided to a bedroom, your surroundings becoming a bit hazy, body numbing. But the pair of lips connecting with yours was fresh and sent a jolt coursing through your system for a split second then everything felt as though you were floating, like you were being detached, as if your soul was leaving your body. Maybe this was a good way to die.

He ran as fast as he could, following the voices in his head, directing him to the beginnings of a crime he could only hope he’d stop on time. The image of the girl he bumped into earlier rushed through his mind a thousand times. She hardly looked at him, yet from that brief encounter she was all he could see. Jungkook stopped in front of a hotel, catching his breath before barging through the doors too impatient to take the glass elevator and settling on the stairs instead. She wasn’t too high up, and the minutes were quickly ticking by. His heart kept sinking by the second and the moment he made it to the floor he sensed she was on, he kicked up his speed and stopped at the door. Jungkook took a deep breath in and tried to keep his composure, slipping on the hood of his jacket over his head and raising his hand to knock.

“Are you alright sir?” A voice from behind startled him, making his fist clench. “I uh…” Jungkook turned around slowly in fear of being suspected that he didn’t belong where he was. When he noticed a young male with a walkie talkie in hand he fixed his lips with the assumption that he was some sort of management or security.

“I seemed to have lost my card key and my phone is locked in my room, think you can open this up for me...?” He swallowed hard after his question, nervousness shooting through his veins, he was running out of time. The male answered immediately. “Sure, no problem sir. We’ll get you a new card key as well.”

Jungkook sighed in relief as the gullible gentlemen opened the door, and hurried away to get a new key sorted out. This was it. Any more delay could result in a failure. He hurried inside, eyes quickly scanning his surroundings. The suite was big and elegant, so it was someone with a lot of money about to commit a horrible act. Jungkook tensed when he heard a light moan coming from the other room, feet swiftly moving in that direction. His doe eyes widened at the sight of the girl limply in the arms of a black-haired man, a visible light slowly passing from her lips to his.

Demon. He was eating her soul.

“Hey, who are you...?” A light voice came from behind. With quickness Jungkook turned around and hit the one behind him, fist connecting with his nose before hurrying over and snatching the dark-haired male off the girl he came to save. The white of Yoongi’s eyes changed black, his voice leaving his throat in a raspy growl. “Jimin who the hell is this?!” He snapped.

Jimin stood up carefully, wiping blood from his nose, blue eyes glowing. Jungkook grabbed the girl in his arms, she was unconscious but still alive with cheeks flushed. Yoongi inched closer to Jungkook and so did Jimin. “Listen little man, you’re ruining a nice meal here, just hand her over and we won’t have to hurt you too bad.” Jimin sighed, cracking his knuckles. “I don’t want to get these clothes too dirty anyway.”

Jungkook’s heart pounded against his chest as he cradled her tightly to him, taking a deep breath in he released an ear-piercing scream, stunning the two and making them quiver to the ground beneath their feet. While his ear-splitting voice lingered in the air he used the opportunity to escape with her in his arms unscathed.

The sun’s warmth woke you the next morning, light rays tickling your skin. You stretched your arms above your head and sat up, groggy and a bit hung over. You felt relieved to be awake from the weirdest dream that seemed almost too real for your liking, the men in it were beautiful but there was no way they could even exist in your reality. It took you sometime to feel your best again, but not too long that you couldn’t make it out your front door and on your way to class.

“Hey Y/n!” Your roommate could be heard chasing you down campus halls. “Great news! My boyfriend asked me to move in with him this morning.” She squealed, clinging onto your arm. “That means I’ll be out of your hair and snuggling every night with my honey.” She beamed. Her words circled around your head, the realization of her not sharing a place with you anymore was too good to be true, but it also brought about a new issue. Who was going to help you pay rent?

It had been a few days since Jungkook saved your life from the demon and his companion and he tried his hardest to keep away from you to avoid any triggering memories and to keep his heart from thumping out of control. He sighed to himself after avoiding your presence in the hallway, eyeing a letter on the college bulletin board:

Looking for a new roommate, rent and details of the apartment to be discussed! Call: #82-2-987-5432

He furrowed his brow at the vagueness of the letter but took it down anyway. Jungkook was looking for a new place to stay, growing tired of living in a dorm and willing to try anything to get out of the small room he shared with two others. He dialed the number in between classes, freezing momentarily at the female voice he heard over the phone. It was familiar but he couldn’t pinpoint where he recognized it from at that moment. The conversation was quick but he got the address, promising to show up after his classes had ended for the day to check the place out.

He found the apartment with ease later that day, just a block away from the university. The area seemed noiseless, already better than his current residence. Jungkook made his way up to the right door, ear phones hanging from his ears and donning a black hood over his head. His fist gave the door several knocks, waiting patiently for someone to answer him, “Hello?” He felt confused, he was sure she would be here now. When he knocked again he was surprised to see the door slightly move, his mind wondering if he should just enter.

“Um... excuse me...?” He cleared his throat peeking into the apartment, his eyes widening at the sight before him. There sat the demon and the siren he fought with just days ago, panic settling in his system. The two gestured him a smile, approaching footsteps from a different direction grabbing his attention and theirs.

There she was.

You heard faint knocking through your headphones, curious to if you were simply hearing things until you remembered you were expecting a possible new roomie to share your home with. It was a male who sounded very promising from the brief conversation you had with him earlier and you couldn’t wait to talk with him. When you entered the living room you froze upon seeing three different males gazing back at you and each of their faces triggering your brain with faint memories.

[thisdaynews]

How Trump Turned Liberal Comedians Conservative

New Post has been published on https://thebiafrastar.com/how-trump-turned-liberal-comedians-conservative/

How Trump Turned Liberal Comedians Conservative

President Donald Trump likes to think of himself as a statesman, an author, an A-level negotiator, but at heart, he’s one thing: an insult comic. Every day in D.C. is a roast, the insults and belittling nicknames wielded like tiny comedy bullets. And if you haven’t seen enough of the fusillade on Twitter, all you need to do is turn on late night TV.

Television comedy has a strange, symbiotic relationship with the real political world, something between a feedback loop and a funhouse mirror. The Smothers Brothers flirted safely with the subversive side of the 1960s; the Clinton-Lewinsky scandal of the ’90s was filtered through Jay Leno’s guffawing misogyny. And then, from 1999 through roughly the start of the Trump administration, the prevailing comedy tone was a kind of ironic detachment, perfected by Jon Stewart on “The Daily Show.”

Story Continued Below

Odds are, even if you barely watched the show, you can still picture the Jon Stewart repertoire: the knowing pop culture references, the sharp satire, the wry take on America at large. His go-to move was perplexity at the absurdity of it all, and the message was detached and a little self-deprecating: If politics was absurd, well, so were we. “You have to remember one thing about the will of the people,” he once said. “It wasn’t that long ago that we were swept away by the Macarena.”

Stewart did make fun of both parties, but his style was fundamentally liberal, says University of Delaware communications professor Dannagal Young: playful, subversive, at once cynical and weirdly optimistic. It was far different, she argues, from the tone of Fox News talk-show hosts, who draw an audience for reasons that are “almost physiological.” Social science research has shown that liberals and conservatives are (on average) wired differently, with social and cultural conservatives personally more attuned to danger, worried about intruders, primed to protect an establishment under threat.

There’s no greater threat to the liberal establishment than Donald Trump. And in the past three years, something about comedy has shifted. In class, Young has her college students diagram late-night jokes and label the incongruities—the hidden arguments that aren’t actually stated in the text. When they come to the May 2018 moment when Samantha Bee, in a rant about immigration on her TBS show “Full Frontal,” called Ivanka Trump a “feckless c—,” the exercise breaks down. The line drew a laugh, but there was nothing to puzzle out. No irony, no distance. She justmeantit.

“There was no incongruity in what she did,” says Young, whose upcoming book,Irony and Outrage, examines the psychological underpinnings of political entertainment. “I don’t care she’s used the c-word a bunch. I care that she, like, didn’t make a joke.”

Or maybe Bee had made a joke, but a joke for the era of Trump.

Like the red meat at Trump’s rallies, it was pitched to the base, satisfying in the way that calling someone a “libtard” feels for people on the right; less a wry observation than a hard push back against a persistent enemy or a looming threat. If Trump has changed the tone of the presidency, he’s done the same for TV humor, creating a kind of insult comedy for the Resistance: less subtle, less civil—and, strangely, more conservative.

***

Jon Stewart is often taggedas left-leaning—and it’s true that he was secretly invited to the Obama White House—but what he really represented wasn’t a political perspective so much as a distance from the fray. His “Daily Show” persona was fit for a deeply cynical age: a naïve, detached observer, trying to navigate the news, who kept stumbling across absurdity. His signature move was a reaction shot: after a news clip would play, the camera would return to Stewart, his eyes popping out as if his innocence were shattered by some fresh horror. His targets weren’t only politicians; he skewered the media, lobbyists, the whole self-aggrandizing, self-perpetuating system that made politics so frustrating. And he could be mercilessly bipartisan: In one 2015 segment that predicted Trump’s nickname, he mocked Joe Biden’s handsiness. One punchline was a faux book called “The Audacity of Grope.”

Then along came Trump, who wasn’t part of the system at all, and thus didn’t fit into Stewart’s man-versus-the-machine framework. The day Trump descended a Trump Tower escalator to announce his candidacy, in June 2015, Stewart was ecstatic. He treated the real-estate-mogul-turned-reality-star not as a viable player, but a professional clown. “America’s id isrunning for president!”he gushed. At the end of the segment, he and two “Daily Show” correspondents mimicked having orgasms.

Stewart left the show a few weeks afterward, part of a long-planned retirement. He wasn’t on the air to document the ongoing campaign, the collective realization that Trump wasn’t just a punchline, and the joke was on the establishment. Still, he was onto something about Trump. The 45th president is undeniably funny—innately entertaining, whether he intends to be or not. Partly, that’s because he’s more ridiculous than anything the sharpest writer’s room could cook up. (The final season of “Veep” felt like a loose transcription of the 2016 race; there was no better material.) Even Trump’s rare moments of public self-awareness can be legitimately amusing: he drew chuckles at the United Nations last September, when he said his administration “has accomplished more than almost any administration in the history of our country,” but he got a big, fully appreciative laugh with his ad-libbed follow-up: “Didn’t expect that reaction, but that’s OK.”

By and large, though, Trump’s humor is different from droll, intellectual wit. “It’s impulse-based and it’s hyperbolic,” Young says, and its broadness is a key to his political appeal. His insanely impolitic language sends the media reaching for Xanax, but to his fans, it’s ongoing proof of his authenticity.

At the start of his administration, many speculated that Trump would turn more measured and sober once he felt the gravitas of the office. But his insult-comic persona isn’t artifice; he can’t be shamed or cajoled into being anyone but himself.

That’s great for his base. Most conservatives, love him or not, have found ways to brush off his rhetoric as Trump being Trump. But liberals see the language as not just authentic, but dangerous—they draw a straight line from the speeches and tweets to the murderous white-supremacist violence in Charlottesville, the mass shooting at the Tree of Life synagogue, caged kids on the Mexican border, and nuclear retaliation threats directed toward Kim Jong Un. So the chorus of left-leaning comedians who evaluate Trump every night has switched from detached amusement to sounding the warning bells.

And in posture, if not politics, the language often matches what Young has observed about conservative outrage. Not only is it positioned against fighting a threat, it’s also straightfoward in perspective—not a multilayered critique of a system, but a blunt road map for politicized anger.

“When satire is doing a good job, it’s not just punching up. It’s reminding us of our complicity,” Young says. But there’s no double meaning in outrage: “Outrage tells you, ‘Here is the thing, here is the thing that’s bad, here is the thing that’s good. … It says exactly what it should conclude. You don’t have to draw conclusions.”

That change might be personified, these days, by “Daily Show” veteran Stephen Colbert, whose Comedy Central show, “The Colbert Report,” was a masterpiece of cynical-age satire: a sustained, high-energy, high-wire parody of Fox News’ Bill O’Reilly, in which the comedian played a blowhard conservative host named “Stephen Colbert.” The show ended, and the character was retired, before Trump entered the 2016 race. And a few months into Trump’s candidacy, Colbert took over CBS’ “The Late Show,” this time appearing as himself.

Candidate Trump was one of real Colbert’s first guests, and while the appearance didn’t produce a moment as iconic as Jimmy Fallon’s hair-mussing, Colbert cheerfully let Trump repeat his campaign lines about building a wall that Mexico would pay for. The humor, at the time, was in the contrast between Trump’s unapologetic Trumpiness and Colbert’s bemused reaction.

But these days, when he talks about Trump, Colbert isn’t so easygoing; his jokes are more vicious and often less surprising. In a mid-May “Late Show” monologue, Colbert described a recent Trumpian insult: comparing 2020 Democratic candidate Pete Buttigieg to the MAD Magazine mascot Alfred E. Neuman. “I see the similarity,” Colbert said, “in that they both are more qualified to be president than Donald Trump.” The audience roared, the band played a little victory tune, and Colbert, smiling, muttered under his breath, “They all came for that joke.”

Colbert has changed less than Bee, his fellow “Daily Show” alum. In 2015, Bee was part of the “Daily Show” sketch that mocked Joe Biden for groping. She played a star-struck, self-deluded reporter who had just come from a one-on-one interview with Biden, and now had brightly-colored hand marks on her chest and rear end. (She cheerfully explained that the then-vice president had just been touching chalk, strawberry preserves, motor oil and Cheetos.) The joke lay, again, in the disconnect: The audience knew Biden’s behavior was wrong, but the establishment, represented by Bee, pretended it was perfectly normal.

Today, Bee’s faux innocence is gone; her “Full Frontal” persona understands everything that’s happening. Her fury is directed not just at Trump, but at everyone on the right; she apologized for the c-word episode, but her anger hasn’t faded. A recent segment on the Alabama’s stringent new abortion law, “Sex Ed for Senators,”explained that when a woman is designated six weeks pregnant, it actually measures the number of weeks from her last period, not from the moment of conception. “Bet you didn’t know uteruses were also time travelers,” Bee said. “That’s science, bitch!”

Like many late-night comedians, Bee has also become more didactic, delivering researched lessons about the dangers of Trump’s favored policies. On HBO’s “Last Week Tonight,” John Oliver, another “Daily Show” veteran, offers up even more facts: The central component of his show is a weekly Rachel Maddow-style lecture, only slightly more lighthearted, sprinkled with jokes that are often hilarious, but are also basically non sequiturs. The Netflix show, “Patriot Act with Hasan Minhaj” (starring another “Daily Show” alum), and Seth Meyers’ “A Closer Look” segment on NBC’s “Late Night” serve up similar material. It’s comedy, in the sense that it contains setups and punch lines. But it isn’t necessarily fun.

As the tone has shifted, it’s not hard to find a clamor for old Jon Stewart—a longing on the part of partisans, critics and fans that even has bled into academic research.

Ethan Porter, an assistant professor at The George Washington University, notes that multiple studies have documented Fox News’ influence on conservative Americans—tracking how increased Fox News ratings have correlated not just with Republican shares of the vote, but with judges’ likelihood to impose longer prison sentences. “What you think of as ‘soft media,’ whether it’s humor or celebrity journalism,” Porter says, “people can actually be impacted by that, in ways that are interesting and surprising.”

In May, Porter and his colleague Thomas Wood, an Ohio State political scientist, published a paper in the journalElectoral Studieswith the irresistible headline, “Did Jon Stewart Elect Donald Trump?”—though, as with most clickbait, the actual point was more nuanced: the authors claimed that the decline in “Daily Show” ratings after Stewart left correlated with a higher share of Republican votes in 2016. But that turned out not to be true: After they found a computational error in their data, the authors retracted their study a week after publication. But the absence of hard proof, Porter says, doesn’t mean the theoryisn’ttrue—and they’re continuing to explore ways that the changing landscape of TV comedy has altered the outcomes of American elections.

They may just need to factor in the fact that comedy has changed—as has Stewart himself. It’s not just his increased likelihood to deliver dead-serious congressional testimony, as he did this week before a House Judiciary subcommittee, pleading for compensation for 9/11 first-responders. It’s not just the regret he’s voiced for treating Trump as such a joke in the beginning. He also sounds different when he pops up from time to time for a comedy bit, appearing as a kind of sage, greying Jewish Yoda who pretends to be living under Colbert’s “Late Show” desk. In one Colbert appearance last summer, Stewart’s comic timing was as good as ever, but his rhetoric was less playful. “No matter what you do, it always comes with an extra layer of gleeful cruelty and dickishness,” he said, looking into the camera and addressing Trump directly. Then he turned to immigration, saying, again to Trump, “Boy, you f—ed that up.”

The audience laughed and cheered. But it wasn’t the kind of sharp satire that had made Stewart such a meaningful cultural figure in the first place.

As outrage, however, it does contain something that satire lacks, Young says: a consistent call to action. That feels like the purpose of this brand of late night comedy—not to wryly observe the world and encourage us all to do better, but to harness people’s anger, make them ready to revolt.

What effect that will have is open to debate; historically, it’s hard to draw a straight line between jokes and votes. But comedy, like all entertainment, can broaden awareness, rile up the base, focus attention on issues that drive emotions.

It could be that this new tone will be a left wing mobilizing force. The midterm elections drew unusually high numbers of Democratic voters; some predict a similar wave in 2020. Late night comedy could be a small part of that movement. But if that happens, it will be because comedians were less like Jon Stewart—the original version—and more likeSean Hannity and Trump.

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