#a frosty affair

[zanephillips]

SHAWN ROBERTS A Frosty Affair (2015)

[chopperspesthouse]

Look at this... 👀

Look at this... 👀 https://pin.it/4UQIJMWsW

[bluebird-writing]

Frosty Affairs

Fandom: Star Trek

Rating: Teen and Up

No Archive Warnings Apply

Pairing: Original Character/Original Character (Milrune Marshall/Tabok Melor)

Summary: “After a harrowing near-death experience, the Nyxtorii Ensign Milrune Marshall is upset to find her close friend and crush, Ensign Tabok Melor, the first Cardassian in Starfleet, avoiding her. His reason for avoiding her is something she never expected....”

Additional Context: This is a snippet from an unwritten original Star Trek story with almost all original characters (except Harry Kim). If you have any questions about the characters or anything, feel free to ask!

[mariasont]

PRIORITIES & PRETTY THINGS - A.H

your beauty routine is sacred, but so is aaron's favorite way to decompress. looks like tonight you'll have to manage both

pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!reader warnings: 18+ MDNI, smutty smut, kinda free use policy, hotch using u for stress relief, p in v, twinkie (boycotting the name creampie), alexa play CPR by cupcake, AFAB, fem!reader, praise, dirty talk, aftercare, maybe a little breeding kink? talk about kids for like a singular line at the end, also mention of their first kiss which can be read here but not necessary to understand wc: 2.9k

Your love affair with beauty did not have the glamorous, instantaneous sparkle like most people choose to assume. In truth, it began behind a bedroom door barricaded tight against preteen anxieties, something that was constructed by braces flashing in garish shades of bubblegum pink and galaxy purple and bangs unevenly chopped by an overly eager parent.

Yet, somehow, fumbling with frosty blue eyeshadow and watermelon-scented gloss taught you self-expression, how to build confidence from the ground up.

Puberty decided to throw you a bone eventually (thank god), but by then makeup had embedded itself as more than something done for vanity. You would consider it a soul-mate level connection nurtured through midnight eyeliner tutorials, endless afternoons reading magazine spreads, and racking up Sephora points that probably rivaled some small countries economies.

Aaron loves giving you endless grief about your overflowing vanity drawers. Overflowing being his word choice, by the way, not yours. He loves grumbling about the avalanche of cosmetic boxes spilling from your shared closet, loves sighing (dramatically) each time another package lands on your doorstep.

Your face looks perfect without this, he insists regularly, always cupping your cheeks so you’re forced to meet those sincere eyes of his. 

But he overplays his hand — all gooey-soft affection pulsing through his pupils, twitch tugging his mouth upward.

He would never actually begrudge something that makes you so shamelessly happy, even if your spending habits are probably sending him toward an emotional breakdown. Therapy’s overdue anyway, in your opinion.

But nothing, absolutely nothing, brings out Aaron’s inner drama king quite like watching you spend approximately a million years applying the very products he loves to call a sparkly money pit.

You’re wrist-deep in said sparkly money pit when Aaron materializes behind you. Not that it fazes you. Your boyfriend-detecting instincts are now advanced to border on psychic talent (and way hotter than being able to predict lottery numbers).

“Hi, handsome,” you greet, flicking your eyes up briefly to gift him your best flirty, mirror-reflected smile. 

You hope he’s sufficiently distracted by your lips to overlook the fact that you’re still nowhere near ready. And true to form, Aaron’s eyes drop obediently.

His fixation on your mouth is practically Pavlovian by now, something you first discovered when he walked headlong into a door frame mid-argument simply because you had pulled your lower lip through your teeth to avoid saying something that might’ve gotten you bent over his knee.

Needless to say, the fight was quickly forgotten, replaced by a much more enjoyable, hands-on type of interaction.

“Honey.”

You recognize that tone instantly, hearing it countless times before. It’s his signature prelude, a gentle warning shot before he points out the obvious — that Spencer and his girlfriend are undoubtedly sitting at your reserved table right now, politely studying menus, patiently pretending to understand your stylish definition of on time.

And then, right on cue, will come the entirely fair (but completely predictable) mention of your solemn promise to be ready to go the nanosecond his work call ended.

“Nearly ready, cross my heart. Just two more seconds. Okay, maybe three. But four tops. Five, like, absolutely worst-case scenario.”

Aaron’s fingertips skate possessively along your waist, slipping beneath your robe to reclaim their preferred real estate.

“I’m not particularly worried about being on time right now,�� he murmurs into the shallow dip at your neck, nose nudging the sensitive spot just below your ear.

Your mascara wand skips slightly, completely giving you away. Not that Aaron’s much better at hiding it, his poker face vanishes at moments like this, evident both in the rigid slope of his shoulders and (oh, hello there!) in the very prominent, enthusiastic proof making itself known against your ass.

“Yeah,” you giggle, bumping your hips back against him for emphasis. “I can feel how not worried you are.”

You struggle to fathom how he managed stress before you. Occasionally, you entertain yourself by picturing it — Aaron Hotchner being told to inhale deeply through a mindfulness app? Or earnestly attempting downward dog stretches in your living room? (You’d pay good money to see that.) Or perhaps he’d stress bake, an apron hugging his waist, forehead creased in the cutest serious-face as he glares suspiciously at measuring cups.

Each scenario gets progressively more funny and less believable.

Once, in those deceptively ‘innocent’ days before your relationship became official, you suggested Aaron adopt a new workout regime to help loosen that chronic, tightly wound demeanor of his. Admittedly, you were implying something a lot less treadmill-focused and considerably more… horizontal.

He diplomatically chose to ignore your entirely transparent proposition. Outwardly, anyway. 

What neither of you anticipated, however, was just how accurate your advice would prove. Because nothing drains Aaron’s tension faster than having you trapped beneath him, diligently working out every ounce of strain against your eagerly receptive body.

Which is precisely why, employing your best bedroom voice, you once generously offered Aaron permanent, round-the-clock access to you anytime the mood might arise. No rules, no red tape. Just full, unrestricted access to you.

In hindsight, you should have anticipated the lengthy, serious discussion that ensued after.

Your easy-going, no rules proposition quickly evolved into an impressively comprehensive negotiation, complete with detailed guidelines and exhaustive clarifications.

His eyebrows had knitted together with that intensity of his, repeatedly insisting that you were always in complete control, and then thoroughly checking — then double-checking, then triple-checking — that your consent was crystal clear, until your cheeks burned hot from the combination of embarrassment and sheer excitement. 

Emphasis on excitement.

Knowing him though, you weren’t necessarily too hopeful that he would actually take you up on your offer.

But when he did, it happened so fast, your brain hardly registered the transition from scrubbing dishes to being perched on the countertop, skirt punches around your waist and legs spread.

He’d walked in fresh from a meeting with Strauss, appearing completely unruffled except for the thunderclouds brewing darkly behind his eyes.

Without even a hint of warning, he had hoisted you up onto the island, plunging into you with such sudden decisiveness that all you managed was a surprised little squeak, fingers digging into his shoulders as he split you open in demanding strokes.

Afterward, he casually tucked himself away, tidying his clothes as if straightening his tie after an entirely routine briefing.

He leaned back against the countertop — yes, the one that had been slicked with both your juices — and resumed your unfinished dishes, nonchalantly asking, “Did you do anything interesting today?” like nothing had happened.

Your cheeks run hot at the memory.

“You do realize Spencer will totally freak if we’re late, right?”

“Then you’d better keep working on that makeup,” he murmurs, sliding his hands lower, “and I’ll handle my own priorities.”

Aaron never bothers fully stripping down when taking advantage of this arrangement. And you know that some part of you should be frustrated at that. It should promote at least some token complaint about fairness or reciprocity or whatever.

But instead, the sight of him, belt hitting to floor with a decisive thunk, pants unfastened just enough to take what he wants, well, it melts any kind of objection from your head, leaving only knees feeling more akin to jelly.

You barely suppress a shuddering breath as his cock springs free, hot and demanding against your thigh, marking your skin with a tacky trail of precum.

You attempt to steady your hand, refocusing on your left eye, guiding the wand in patient strokes from base to tip, each swipe sculpting them into perfectly fanned-out strands.

Aaron, however, is far less concerned with patience or perfection. His fingers hook into your robe, tugging it upward to reveal your hips and ass in one movement.

Goosebumps burst along your freshly moisturized skin at the exposure, and even so, you swear the air feels about ten degrees warmer. His right palm flattens between your shoulder blades, tipping you forward, presenting your body like an inviting dessert for ravenous eyes.

He positions himself between your folds, the thick tip of his cock flirting at your entrance before gliding over your puffy clit in sluggish, repeated motions. Your lips fall open on a soft, breathy gasp, eyes blinking dazedly around the blackened spoolie.

A very distant (and honestly not very reliable) part of your brain registers mild surprise at how soaked you’ve gotten. Which is stupid because you should really should expect it by now.

Being with Aaron has transformed you into a creature constantly on the edge, trembling in anticipation, your senses warped in a constant, intoxicating fog of lust.

Living together had only exacerbated that lust a thousandfold. You were constantly surrounded by his addictive pheromones, wrapped nightly in sheets saturated with his heat, body trained to climb him on any remotely available surface — the couch, the corner of his desk, the shower, the bed (obviously), and even once, tipsily, sprawled across the living room floor after a bottle of wine dissolved all remaining inhibitions.

“Easy, sweetheart,” Aaron whispers, dragging his head at your now sopping opening. “Wouldn’t want to mess up your pretty face before dinner.”

“Awh, baby, you know I look even better when I’m —” The retort snaps into a choked-off whine as he pushes into your cunt with one fluid thrust. 

Your wrist spasms without permission, sending the mascara wand skidding haphazardly across your eyelid and streaking your cheek in sloppy black lines. Your pelvis crashes clumsily into the countertop’s hard edge, a sharp little reminder that maybe multitasking is apparently not your strong suit.

Aaron’s fingers card through your hair, sweeping it aside to bare your neck and shoulders. His other hand slowly peels your robe downward, exposing inch after inch of bare skin to his warm mouth.

Tender kisses rain softly down your spine as he draws his hips back, leaving you momentarily empty, only to surge forward again, ripping a sweetly startled whimper from your lips. 

The spoolie clatters into the sink, splattering the porcelain in the process.

“Guess it’s a good thing I don’t mind explaining to Spencer exactly why we’re late.”

He wouldn’t dare, of course he wouldn’t, but your body still preens at the implication, cunt tightening greedily around him as though daring him to prove you wrong.

Because, lately, Aaron has grown noticeably more brazen, perhaps due to the ease and intimacy building in your relationship, or maybe he’s finally giving into your bad (amazing, really) influence.

You’ve noticed it in tiny habits, like when he purposely rolls his sleeves up, putting those mouthwatering forearms on display after overhearing you confess just how much they distract you. Or how he picks ties that perfectly match his suits in ways you’ve gushed about, enjoying the obvious ways your eyes get stuck lingering in team meetings.

He’s even developed a charming habit of pointedly mentioning how wonderfully rested he feels each morning, making clear eye contact when Rossi wonders aloud why he looks so content.

He drives into you again, deeper, sending your nails clawing over the marble, arching yourself forward chasing every ounce of friction you can get.

But Aaron’s hand snakes around your waist, palm splayed across your stomach, guiding you upright until you’re pressed flush against him, the new angle forcing pleasure to surge hot and fast through every nerve ending.

His voice rumbles in your ear, “Keep working on your makeup, sweetheart. Or I’ll have to stop, and neither of us wants that.”

“Aaron,” you whine, drawing out his name in the most petulant, bratty tone you can muster, “I can’t.”

Instantly, he stills, cock fully seated inside you. You try to buck backward, trying to force your hips back against him, but his fingers clamp down around your waist, gripping with the kind of force that leaves marks you’ll admire later (like really cute, private trophies).

His free hand slips lower, fingertips pinching your clit.

You cry out, writhing against him. “Okay, okay, I’ll behave, just, please.”

Your hand fumbles along the vanity, nails knocking loudly into bottles and compacts until, finally, you find your lipliner. 

Aaron rewards your compliance by ramming back into you, obliterating any remaining hand-eye coordination. Your fingers wobble uncontrollably, resulting in an uneven, messy trail of color from your cupid’s bow to who-knows-where.

“That’s more like it. Look at you,” Aaron taunts, “Mouth open, looking so damn pretty.” His thumb lethargically grazes your overly-sensitive nub, causing your lips to part further, deepening your pout. He chuckles softly, clearly amused and more than a little cocky as he studies your reflection, eyes darkening. “Yeah, exactly like that, sweet girl.”

Aaron accelerates his motions, hips snapping roughly, hard enough to send you bouncing onto your tiptoes. Honestly, if his dick was any bigger, you’d need heels just to reach the floor.

Your robe begins to fall away from your shoulder, silky fabric separating to expose the swell of your breast, instantly capturing Aaron’s full gaze, pupils blown wide.

His hand deserts your waist, reaching up to cup your tit, thumb rolling over your nip, coaxing it into a tight little peak. You moan helplessly, eyes mascara-blurred as you attempt to keep your lip color within the lines of increasingly messy lips.

“Having trouble concentrating?” Aaron asks mildly, sounding completely unaffected for someone who’s currently buried eight inches deep inside you.

“I’m — I’m trying.”

He responds by squeezing your nipple a little harder. “So I noticed.”

You squirm wildly beneath him, his chest pressed down against your back, each thrust hitting a spot that makes your brain fizz into pink bubbles. 

Your thoughts spin in a dizzy disaster — Oh my god, Aaron, I can’t, wait, no, I definitely can, please keep going, love you, love you, love you, until half-formed thoughts turn into breathless declarations from your lips about how perfect he is, how you’d marry him tomorrow (white dress, cake and vows) if he’d just keep doing exactly this.

His control frays simultaneously, composed grunts fading into needy, unfiltered whispers against your flushed skin.

His words tumble out just as desperate as your own ramblings — how beautiful you are, how he’d buy you anything, give you anything — a ring, maybe even a baby, anything that would bind you to him forever.

The words send you careening into ecstasy, orgasm igniting within you in bright, syrupy bursts more saccharin than you thought possible. Those perfect promises twist around your core like velvet ropes, pulling tighter with every dreamy picture they paint (domestic bliss, pretty nurseries, endless forevers) until you’re seeing stars and giggling between gasping moans.

Your spine bows as you pulse around him, waves of pleasure radiating outward, turning you both into a trembling mess of sweaty, feverish harmony. 

You feel Aaron spill inside you, and for one fleeting, impulsive second, you catch yourself wishing your birth control would magically fail, just this once.

He slowly eases out of you, legs immediately trembling in complaint, his cum trickling down your inner thighs. You slump against the counter, breath uneven, as Aaron grabs a washcloth to dampen it.

The mirror does not go easy on you. Mascara in streaks across your eyelids and cheeks, lipstick color smeared, well, everywhere. You shoot him a half-hearted glare. He has the audacity to return a proud smirk.

“What?” he shrugs, biting back a laugh. “I think it’s a good look on you.”

You wiggle impatiently, trying to escape Aaron’s hold, your overstimulated body shivering and twitching at every careful wipe of the cloth. 

You glance at the clock. “Spencer is so going to hate us forever.”

 “The reservations got pushed back.” He tightens his grip, one strong arm cinching around your waist. “Spencer texted, they’re running late, something about forgetting stuff at home.”

You spin quickly in his arms. “That is literally the first thing you should’ve told me!”

“And miss watching you get flustered? Not a chance.”

You stick your tongue out defiantly, because that’s obviously the mature, adult way to handle your boyfriend teasing you.

The reward, though, is immediate — a soft, genuine laugh bubbles from Aaron, warming every little corner of your heart and fluttering down to your toes. 

He reaches past you, plucking a packet of makeup wipes from the counter, and his touch, as he gently presses it to your cheekbone, is stupidly gentle, dabbing at your face in a lazy, affectionate path.

You melt right into his palm, almost feline in your contentment, purring with how sweet it feels to be touched like this.

“You know what I’m thinking about?” Peering up at him through your lashes, you flash a smile, “Our first kiss.”

“Funny, so was I.” Aaron’s whole face shifts, eyes crinkling at the corners, the tenderest smile spreading openly across his mouth. “You know, after you fell asleep that night, I sat awake for way too long, worrying you might wake up in the morning regretting it,” he admits softly. “I had a whole speech planned, this overly formal, completely unnecessary lecture about workplace ethics and chain of command. You would’ve rolled your eyes so hard.”

You giggle, sliding your arms snugly around his middle, tipping your head back to look up at him.

“You and your speeches,” you tease. “Lucky for you, I was already planning how to seduce you the second I woke up.”

His mouth finds the corner of yours.

“Well, you’ve always had much better instincts than me.”

You tap his chest lightly. “So, um, did you happen to mention something about giving me a baby earlier or was that just my post-orgasmic delirium talking?”

Aaron laughs. “I might have gotten carried away.”

“No baby, then? Just empty promises?”

“Who said anything about empty?” He smirks, fingertips dancing along your spine. “I just thought it’d be polite to give you my last name before we start creating miniature versions of ourselves.”

“Careful, talk like that will earn you all kinds of privileges.” You reach up, pinching his cheek.

“Good.” He grabs your wrist, kissing the inside of it. “And just so we’re clear, I plan to extensively take advantage for the next, oh, forty or fifty years.”

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanded! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[sofiasworld00]

The Wedding Bells of December

Harry Lewis x reader

Summary: Harry and reader at Ethan and Faiths wedding where one thing leads to another and the night ends with an engagement.

Warnings: mostly fluff, steamy stuff(not smut)

Word count: 3k (ish)

The frosty December air bit at your skin as you stood beside Harry Lewis, his arm wrapped around your waist, providing warmth and comfort against the chill. Ethan and Faith’s wedding was a grand affair, held at a picturesque venue decorated with fairy lights, candles, and an abundance of white and gold accents. Snow fell gently outside the massive glass windows, creating a perfect winter wonderland that felt more like a dream than reality.

Harry looked dapper in his tailored suit, the navy material hugging his broad shoulders perfectly. His usual cheeky demeanor was replaced with a calm, almost reflective energy as he held you close. You stole a glance at him, his face slightly flushed from the cold, his blue eyes shimmering with emotion as he gazed at the newlyweds exchanging vows.

The moment Ethan spoke his heartfelt promises to Faith, you felt Harry’s grip on your hand tighten. He turned to look at you, his lips quirking into a small smile, but you could see the telltale glimmer of unshed tears in his eyes.

“Are you okay?” you whispered softly, your voice almost lost in the soft hum of the ceremony.

Harry nodded, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple. “Yeah,” he murmured, his voice a little rough. “Just thinking.”

You knew what he meant. The two of you had been together for years now, building a life full of love, laughter, and shared dreams. Ethan and Faith’s wedding wasn’t just a celebration of their love—it was a mirror reflecting everything you and Harry had built together and everything you had yet to experience.

The Reception

The reception was nothing short of magical. The hall was filled with laughter, music, and the clinking of champagne glasses. Harry was by your side, his hand never leaving yours as you mingled with the other Sidemen and their partners.

Vik and Tobi were the first to greet you both, their excitement infectious as they praised how stunning you looked. “Harry, mate, you’ve outdone yourself,” Tobi teased, winking at you. “She’s way too good for you.”

Harry laughed, pulling you closer. “Don’t I know it?”

As the night wore on, you danced under the soft glow of chandeliers, the sound of live music filling the air. Harry wasn’t much of a dancer—he often joked that his limbs were too long and gangly for it—but tonight, he made an exception. He held you close as the band played a slow song, his cheek resting against the top of your head.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear. “I don’t say it enough, but you are.”

You tilted your head up to look at him, your heart swelling at the vulnerability in his eyes. “You’re not too bad yourself, Lewis.”

He chuckled, his laughter vibrating against your chest. “I’m serious. Watching Ethan and Faith today… it’s made me think about us. About how much I love you.”

Your throat tightened, emotions bubbling to the surface. “I love you too, Harry. So much.”

The Speeches

When it was Harry’s turn to speak, you felt a surge of pride and nerves for him. He wasn’t one to enjoy public speaking, but Ethan had asked him to be one of the best men, and Harry had accepted without hesitation.

He stood at the microphone, his hands gripping the stand as he scanned the room. When his eyes landed on you, he seemed to relax slightly.

“I’ve known Ethan for years,” Harry began, his voice steady despite the nerves evident in his posture. “We’ve been through a lot together—laughs, arguments, some questionable decisions during Sidemen videos—but through it all, he’s been like a brother to me. And seeing him with Faith… it’s clear she’s made him the happiest he’s ever been. They’re perfect for each other.”

He paused, his gaze flickering to you again. “Love isn’t always easy. It’s about finding someone who sees you for who you are—flaws and all—and chooses to stand by you anyway. And Ethan and Faith, you’ve found that in each other.”

The room erupted into applause as Harry raised his glass in a toast. When he returned to his seat, you leaned in to kiss his cheek, murmuring, “That was beautiful.”

He shrugged, but the blush on his cheeks betrayed his emotions. “Just telling the truth.”

The Drive To The Hotel

The wedding eventually wound down, and you and Harry left the venue, your fingers intertwined as you walked to the car. The snow had picked up, blanketing the world in a serene hush. The drive to the hotel was quiet, both of you lost in your thoughts. Harry’s hand rested on your thigh, his thumb tracing absentminded circles against the fabric of your dress.

“Tonight was perfect,” you said softly, breaking the silence.

Harry glanced at you, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “It was. Ethan and Faith deserve it.”

You hesitated for a moment before speaking again. “When you were up there, giving your speech… it felt like you were talking about us.”

He didn’t respond immediately, his grip on your thigh tightening slightly. “That’s because I was,” he admitted quietly. “I’ve been thinking about us a lot lately. About what’s next.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean?”

He pulled into the hotel parking lot, turning off the engine before facing you fully. The dim light from the car’s interior illuminated his face, highlighting the sincerity in his expression.

“I mean… I don’t want to wait anymore,” he said, his voice firm. “I want this with you. The vows, the celebration, the forever. I’ve wanted it for a long time, but tonight just made it crystal clear.”

Tears filled your eyes as you reached for him, cupping his face in your hands. “Harry…”

He leaned into your touch, his eyes closing briefly before he opened them again, filled with determination. “Marry me. Not someday—soon. I don’t need anything fancy. I just need you.”

The Hotel Room

When you finally made it to the hotel room, the emotions of the day had reached their peak. The moment the door clicked shut, Harry turned to you, his hands sliding around your waist as he pulled you into a deep, passionate kiss. His lips were soft but demanding, his touch setting your skin alight.

“I mean it,” he murmured against your lips, his voice thick with emotion. “I don’t want to wait anymore.”

Your hands tangled in his hair as you kissed him back, pouring every ounce of love and desire into the moment. “I don’t want to wait either.”

His hands roamed your body, tracing the curves of your dress before finding the zipper at the back. He pulled it down slowly, his lips never leaving yours as the material pooled at your feet.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his blue eyes dark with desire as they raked over your exposed skin.

You felt a shiver run down your spine, a mix of the cool air and the heat of his gaze. You reached for him, unbuttoning his shirt with trembling fingers, revealing the toned muscles beneath. When his shirt joined your dress on the floor, he lifted you effortlessly, carrying you to the bed.

The passion between you was overwhelming, each touch and kiss a reminder of the depth of your love for each other. He took his time, worshipping every inch of your body as if to prove just how serious he was about the promises he’d made in the car.

“I love you,” he murmured over and over, his words a soothing balm to your soul.

As the night wore on, the world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you wrapped in each other’s arms. The love you shared wasn’t just a fleeting emotion—it was a promise, a future, and a forever.

The Morning After

When you woke the next morning, the sunlight streaming through the curtains, you found Harry watching you, his head propped up on one hand.

“Good morning, fiancée,” he said, his grin boyish and full of mischief.

You laughed, your heart swelling at the word. “Good morning, fiancé.”

He reached over, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Last night was perfect. You’re perfect.”

You leaned into his touch, your smile soft. “I can’t wait to marry you.”

“Neither can I,” he said, his voice serious. “Let’s not wait long. Let’s start forever as soon as we can.”

And as you lay there, wrapped in his arms, you knew that your forever had already begun.

A/N: I’m so happy with how this turned out! Pls remember to repost and spread!

[apolaskiart]

(minor spoilers for ep .55)

A Familial Affair...

Posting the stills below plus some explanations for how I interpreted Frost and Gricko's families!

For Gricko's family, his mother is to his right while his father and uncle Glorbo are below him (left to right). There is not that much physical description about them (that I can recall), other than Gricko being a clear spitting image of his dad. So, I took the liberty to designing them with inspirations of heavy metal styles since Gricko was based on Nicko McBrain (from Iron maiden), Kinda headcanoned that his mom and uncle were related when designing them as well, which story-wise can then explain why Gricko was closer to his uncle with his dad being absent (though such detail likely may also be a jokey moment between the players). Given that they were likely beast masters as well, I followed Gricko's outfit design on them, with his dad even getting the outfit from his old canon design.

For Frost's family, his is mom to his left and dad to his right. There was also not that much physical descriptions regarding them aside from being farmers (?). Not to mention, Frost did not have that much memory about them after the events of the mushroom tea drinking ep so details are more sparse. Though from how they were described as being lovely and caring parents, I drew them to look somewhat serious still to evoke some of that elder authority. Their clothing was loosely based on several Korean/Chinese clothing that I've accumulated from doing design research but nothing specific that I would denote off.

Also side note, I was kinda bummered out that Frost and Gricko did not appear in each other's sections. Frosty still had two blank portraits wdym gricko and hootsie did not appear there :(((

[vcaart]

my anxious boy and his magic hat

(I SWEAR THIS IS THE LAST TIME ILL REDESIGN HIM)

(More info on him below):

Hazy Light is one of the only natural born alicorns to ever exist, born from the unicorn Midnight and the pegasus Show Stopper from an affair. He's never felt quite worthy of his alicorn ranking, seeing as he didn't earn it like any other alicorn, and wears a hat to hide his horn.

Though he doesn't have a relationship with his parents Shimmer Bright (an earth pony) and Show Stopper, which makes it painfully obvious he isn't Shimmer's blood.

Hazy Light spent most of his adolescence with his uncle and aunt, Silver Noir and Frosty Cocoa, while his parents were away for "business." He still resides there, with his parents currently overseas.

As a young foul he went to private school on the request of Show Stopper, and there he tracked down his classmates pet miniature alligator as his first unofficial case which also earned him his cutie mark!

To thank his uncle for taking care of him he became his apprentice, mostly just helping him out around the office. But he proved to be a very skilled detective and started helping him with actual cases.

Silver Noir eventually got Hazy Light enrolled in the school of friendship, Hope's Peak Academy, in hopes that he could make some friends there and come out of his shell. He couldn't stay cooped up forever.

Unfortunately, things don't all go according to plan when they get trapped in the school by a strange mechanical bear?

(Credits to @/thiscatdraws for the inspo for Shuichi being an alicorn and hiding his horn with his hat! I did get permission from them beforehand as well to use this idea. Please check out their page if you haven't already, their art is absolutely AMAZING)

[portraitofalinkonfyre]

Frostbyte

Pairing: Four x Reader

Warning(s): Yandere behavior, slight mind break, so please scroll if any of this triggers you <333

Notes: Written for @heroesrest64's Haunted Heroes AU. Enjoy you wonderful person <33

Masterlist

Death, you decided, was a warm affair.

It came slow; like the tentative dipping of toes in the rolling ocean waves upon a rocky shore, or the soft laving of a child's tongue across a sweet treat.

Like something to be savored. Like something to die for.

Except you were cold; so dizzyingly cold that not even a night in the freezer could force your body temperature a degree lower, though nothing said it wouldn't further aggravate your frostnipped fingers, curled against your palm in a sad attempt at conserving warmth.

Your eyelids cracked open, flicking back and forth across the blurry landscape. It was a living room, nondescript at first, hazy glance, but you knew better. Your fingers twitched at the scratching sensation of rough fabric made itself known beneath your cheek, as though your body was reminding you that death, however likely, wasn't around this particular corner. In the center of your vision, the TV flashed a myriad of colors, igniting something close to terror in your feeble mind. What time was it? What was the date? What insanity would you face today—

Your thoughts stuttered at the gradual cool enveloping your ankle. Like a hand. Like a shackle.

"W-Who's there?" your voice cracked in your chest, throat, and tongue as the sensation ebbed and flowed—like someone had poured a vat of liquid nitrogen over your skin and... held it there—despite knowing full well who it was.

He was the coldest of them all; the one who touched you like you were something so preciously discardable, but oh-so-necessary. The one who lingered on the heels of tragedy, stalking the line between torturer and savior.

Four, you'd learned to call him.

For a split second, the touch faltered. Then, like a stab, it returned with full, frosty intent, until your foot kicked out, making sickening contact with the couch's arm, and the sweet kiss of freefall enveloped your body as it flew from the upholstery to the carpet.

Thump!

Pain exploded across your shoulder as it made contact with the floor, but it was more than welcome in the wake of the fading chill. Your nerves thrummed with adrenaline-tainted warmth—breathing heavy, muscles tense, ribs tight in your chest—and you scrambled to a half-sitting position, eyes glued to the empty spot on the couch.

If you stared hard enough, you could see the invisible glimmer of a man's silhouette, if it could be taken as anything but the terrifying ramblings of an overwrought brain.

Four, you'd learned to fear.

You'd seen him once; lips blue and eyes bluer, a thin coat of ice crystallized over his pale skin, gaze sharper than an ice shard. Even frozen, he was as quick as a whip, and neither here nor there at the best of times. It was a feat unto itself not to remember chilled fingers brushed your face In the darkness of the night, or the terrible notion of someone who was just as incorporeal as the flowing breeze.

But Four was here. Four was watching you.

Your knuckles scraped against the carpet as you scooted back against the wall, fingernails digging crescent indents deep within the sweaty flesh of your palm. Another wave of cold seemed to fill the room, swirling through the air like the invisible clutches of an impossible storm.

"What do you want?" you croaked, voice scratchy from seconds, minutes, hours, years of disuse. How long had it truly been? Did you want to know?

Nothing was said, but it didn't need to be. The faint indent in the couch popped to its normal position, and you shut your eyes in preparation for the stinging burn of his touch. Running was no longer an option, not when the muscles in your calves were tighter than rope or the curve of your shoulders could have broken down whatever feeble walls kept the incorporeal so impossibly untouchable.

The lights flickered. The TV screeched. Something shattered in the kitchen. The small clock on the wall began to spin. A scream echoed through the hallway. The puddle of water at your feet felt less and less like a figment of your imagination.

And, somehow, the cold-burned touch on your shoulder was the worst of all, searing through layers of fabric and flesh to brand itself into your very bones, taking roost within clustered marrow and scintillating blood.

If you didn't know any better, you'd say he wanted to be inside you. One with you. So connected that your body was his and your thoughts were hardly your own.

The chill ramped up. The chill threatened to consume you, all you had to do was let it.

The carpet was rough as your body fell on its side, left shoulder stinging as it made contact with the unvacuumed floor. Dropping like a fly. Dropping like you were dead. Maybe you were. Maybe you weren't.

The touch returned, just as freezing as it traced down the length of your side, only jabbing down when the ghost found the spot he was looking for. A broken whine filled the space as you curled in on yourself, trying to escape the incorporeal shard buried between the cradle of your bottom two ribs, digging in as Four sought a reaction. It was like he fed from your pain, your fear, your hopelessness, even from the first moment you laid eyes on frostbitten skin and eyes just as cold.

The lights flickered again, with far more violence than you remembered Hyrule ever possessing, and Four's touch was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

Relief was nothing short of a drug as it coursed through your chilled veins, igniting every nerve with a warmth that was just as punishing as it was welcome. Pins and needles pinpricks set your fingers and toes alight, and the pain forced your eyes to unscrew, only to snap open at the disposable cup sitting a few inches from your face.

Drink me, was scrawled on the recycled paper surface. It seems Wild's twisted humor had overcome his crazy once again. You never should have let him watch Alice in Wonderland.

It was a battle unto itself to force your stinging body into the barest semblance of a sitting position, reclining against the wall like someone too tired to continue. But that wasn't an option, not when Wild had the strength to force your jaw open to accept his food or Hyrule had the power to control your phone or Twilight could make anyone and anything do his twisted fucking bidding. Not when their anchors meant nothing. Not when you could feel them nestled in your very bones.

You took the cup with the certainty of a newborn deer, downing it in one magnificent gulp. Wild liked his creations savored, but it was better to just get it over with before he decided to get 'helpful'.

"Thank you," you croaked to the empty room that couldn't have been more full. It was polite. It was coercion.

Bedtime was a second terrible affair.

The night was cool, with just enough of a breeze that you could justify cracking your bedroom window open to breathe just a sliver of fresh air. A large shirt—so large that it hung on the pointed cusp of your right shoulder—covered most of your frame, complemented by a pair of ratty shorts that you were half sure even the ghosts slightly disapproved of.

Flopping onto your unmade bed felt like a lesser form of death, as swathes of cotton and polyester enveloped your body in a hug that felt worryingly real. You were almost concerned. Almost.

Head on the pillow, cheek smothered in contained faux goose down, and you still had no idea what or who you were. The ceiling was white and popcorned, and so was the window you'd cracked open. Maybe you could paint it blue. Or green. Dark forest sage or eye-bleed lime, it all looked the same to you.

A soft rustling of sheets caught your ear, and it was to your infinitesimal horror that the opposite side of the bed dipped and a familiar chill tugged at the edges of your sanctuary.

He was here. Four was here, and you didn't dare make a sound. Not when icy fingers fit so well over your mouth, or you could so vividly imagine what the ghost's palm would feel like as it pressed close to your jugular, feeling the structure bob up and down with each terrified gulp.

"Hi," you croaked; half alive, all dead. It was polite. It was survival.

The sheets rustled some more. The chill shifted closer. You wondered why sharing a bed with Four was worse torture than anything else, or why the thought of his ice-bound body against yours was the stuff of nightmares.

Hero of Hyrule? More like Hero of Harrasment, but you supposed it was better for everyone to keep that to yourself, not when you couldn't decide who you hated more: them or yourself.

Not when you let the dead into your bed and the ghosts of Heroes past into your heart.

You wanted to scream when something patted your shoulder, leaving a stab of incorporeal ice in its infinitesimal wake, braising the exposed skin in something you dared call a brand and realistically called a fucking birthmark from hell. Sleeping outside in the rain would be better. You'd rather have homeless autonomy to whatever fuckery this was.

Eyes screwed shut, mouth pursed. Would it matter if you looked? If you cried out? Wild would be on you in a second, pressing too-wrong fingers to your mouth, and life would seem all the more unlivable, though you knew the sweet kiss of death would only drag you deeper into this madness. You didn't want to be united to these psychos in death.

A whisper of breath fanned over your lips, and you snapped your eyes open just in time to catch bright-burn blues.

You inhaled.

You screamed.

Poor Reader :((

[malusokay]

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ My Christmas movie watch list ⋆⁺₊❅⋆

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙Romance ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

The Holiday 2006

Love Actually 2003

Love Hard 2021

Holidate 2020

A Castle for Christmas 2021

The Shop Around the Corner 1940

Christmas in Connecticut 1945

Holiday Affair 1949

EXmas 2023

The Holiday Calendar 2018

A Merry Scottish Christmas 2023

The Princess Switch 2018

The Princess Switch: Switched Again 2020

The Princess Switch 3: Romancing the Star 2021

Four Christmases 2008

Last Christmas 2019

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙Comedy ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

Elf 2003

Home Alone 1990

Home Alone 2 1992

Noelle 2019

Surviving Christmas 2004

Jack Frost 1998

The Nutcracker and the Four Realms 2018

The Christmas Chronicles 2018

The Christmas Chronicles 2 2020

A Christmas Story 1983

Jingle All the Way 1996

Jingle All the Way 2 2014

Deck the Halls 2006

The Santa Clause 1994

Christmas with the Kranks 2004

Christmas Vacation 1989

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙Animated ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

Barbie in the Nutcracker 2001

Barbie in a Christmas Carol 2008

Barbie: A Perfect Christmas 2011

How the Grinch Stole Christmas 2000

The Grinch 2018

The Polar Express 2004

A Christmas Carol 2009

The Nightmare Before Christmas 1993

The Elf on the Shelf: An Elf's Story 2010

The Year Without a Santa Claus 1974

A Charlie Brown Christmas 1965

Arthur Christmas 2011

Frosty the Snowman 1969

Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer 1964

I've also put all movies in a Letterbox list --> ˗ˋˏ click here ˎˊ-

If you guys have any more suggestions and/or recommendations (maybe some shows and series as well!!), please feel free to share them with me in the comments!! <33

[facts-i-just-made-up]

What's your favorite banned episode of Star Trek?

Though 12 episodes of Star Trek have been banned in various forms in various countries across its many series, the three “lost” episodes of Star Trek: The Next Generation are perhaps the most famous, and which is my own favorite will come as no surprise to anyone who knows me.

The first is of course the original pilot episode, the single episode version of “Encounter at Farpoint.” Though the plot is mostly the same as what aired, two scenes that resolved the story early were deemed too violent, those involving Captain Picard executing an officer for abandoning his post, and Riker pushing Wesley Crusher out an airlock for discovering his affair with Tasha Yar. Needless to say with original showrunner George R.R. Martin being replaced by Gene Roddenberry, Wesley stayed on the ship and the series was richer for it. Martin would of course go on to use both scenes in his magnum opus, “Sandkings.”

The second banned episode is the usual fan favorite. The famous “Holoday Special” in which the ship’s entertainment system malfunctions and releases a Lovecraftian amalgamation of popular Christmas mascots into the ship was not only the first appearance of future show staple Ensign Scrooge, but the creature itself- Part Santa, part Frosty, part Reindeer and part Krampus. It was deemed too scary and cut, though its puppet was repurposed for the alien at the end of the episode “Conspiracy.”

But my favorite is naturally the crossover with the Alien franchise. From the moment the Enterprise entered orbit of LV-426, you knew some shit was gonna go down. With Data’s betrayal of the crew for Starfleet’s “profit directive” to Picard’s attempts to coax a solution out of the computer, Pulaski turning hero and willing to ignite the warp core to kill the monster, and of course the infamous Worfburster scene, the whole episode was a tour de force that they had to know would never be shown given its darkness and gore.

Thank goodness we still got Sisko vs Predator.

[deepestdelulu]

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ My Christmas movie watch list ⋆⁺₊❅⋆

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙Romance ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

The Holiday 2006

Love Actually 2003

Love Hard 2021

Holidate 2020

A Castle for Christmas 2021

The Shop Around the Corner 1940

Christmas in Connecticut 1945

Holiday Affair 1949

EXmas 2023

The Holiday Calendar 2018

A Merry Scottish Christmas 2023

The Princess Switch 2018

The Princess Switch: Switched Again 2020

The Princess Switch 3: Romancing the Star 2021

Four Christmases 2008

Last Christmas 2019

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙Comedy ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

Elf 2003

Home Alone 1990

Home Alone 2 1992

Noelle 2019

Surviving Christmas 2004

Jack Frost 1998

The Nutcracker and the Four Realms 2018

The Christmas Chronicles 2018

The Christmas Chronicles 2 2020

A Christmas Story 1983

Jingle All the Way 1996

Jingle All the Way 2 2014

Deck the Halls 2006

The Santa Clause 1994

Christmas with the Kranks 2004

Christmas Vacation 1989

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅̩̩͙‧͙Animated ‧͙̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

Barbie in the Nutcracker 2001

Barbie in a Christmas Carol 2008

Barbie: A Perfect Christmas 2011

How the Grinch Stole Christmas 2000

The Grinch 2018

The Polar Express 2004

A Christmas Carol 2009

The Nightmare Before Christmas 1993

The Elf on the Shelf: An Elf's Story 2010

The Year Without a Santa Claus 1974

A Charlie Brown Christmas 1965

Arthur Christmas 2011

Frosty the Snowman 1969

Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer 1964

If you guys have any more suggestions and/or recommendations (maybe some shows and series as well!!), please feel free to share them with me in the comments!! <33

[pixelnrd]

The wedding reception was a huge affair. Dustin and Kelly cut their cake, celebrated their first dance and partied the night away in style. Everyone they knew was there - the Sulani cousins had made it, and River’s sisters Summer and Clover were thrilled to be invited to celebrate the happy occasion. Dustin and Heather even included their 15 year old little brother Nori in the festivities. It was the first time they had all been together as one whole family.

River even took it upon himself to speak with April. He thanked her for supporting Dustin for so long, and for bringing up their children after he moved away. April was surprised by his contriteness but was pleased to receive his acknowledgment after all the years since their divorce. If anything it helped her frostiness towards her ex-husband thaw somewhat.

As the night wore on and everyone became rowdy on the dance floor, Heather noticed someone familiar. Lo and behold, to her surprise it was Jenny - here, at Dusty’s wedding.

‘You’re a sight for sore eyes,’ smiled Jenny. She looked so different to how Heather had saved her in her memories. ‘Sorry it’s taken me a while to come and say hi. Sister of the groom, you’ve been popular tonight!’

‘I didn’t know you would be here,’ said Heather honestly. ‘Did my brother really invite his entire high school year just to make some kind of statement that he’s still got it?’

Jenny laughed. ‘I think he wanted to rub it in my face maybe - I’ll flatter myself that he needed to prove to me that he’s better off without me, even after all these years.’

The girls sat down to catch up. Heather couldn’t believe it had really been 8 years since she had last seen Jenny. Jenny, the girl who had opened up her heart. Opened her up to herself. The familiar butterflies crept their way back in. It was like time had rewound itself, back to high school. She was still so pretty, and so flawlessly cool. Heather couldn’t believe she had ever been so lucky to be her best friend.

They shared their life updates with one another - Heather told Jenny of her travelling experiences post-college. Jenny told her that she was living in Copperdale, working as a style critic for a big magazine. Heather was hardly surprised - she knew Jenny would always do something cool and exciting.

As the night wore on and they continued to drink their wine, both of them revelled in each others company after so many years of discovering the world and themselves.

[funtheysaid]

IWTV 2x01 Initial Thoughts (Stream Of Consciousness)

- That title card for Delainey felt very stage play to me (ahhh I adore the theatrical elements for this season)

- Ooh I love the idea that vamps can take on the emotions of whosever blood they’re drinking - it’s like the vampire equivalent of when werewolves can smell ppl’s emotions and fears through chemosignals (a la Teen Wolf iykyk)

- “Disregard” is the funniest shit ever 😂 Oldmaniel they could never make me hate you

- There’s a Real Rashid OMFG ??? Lol imagine he’s not actually Rashid and they pull one over on us again I’d fucking shit myself

- “Your love was in a box” OH MY GOD EAT HIM UP DANNY BOY

- OMG OMG LOUSTAT ITS HAPPENIGN ITS HAPPENING EVERYONE SHUT UP

- I MISS YOU TOO LESTAT

- “Quite fucked” 😏😏😏

- “mon amour” “mon cher” “love” IM GOING TO EXSANGUINATE MYSELF ISTG

- The singular finger on Louis’ chin 🥲 so delicate so soft so bad for my mental health

- I like Emilia

- “They are not used to seeing man with good looks” OKAY I know they’re just racists BUT she also wasn’t lying bc beautiful Louis is canon god bless you Jacob Anderson

- Lol Morgan a little fruity

- OOH memory is a monster! They be redoing scenes as Louis “fixes” his memories !!!! That’s gonna show up again for sure :))))

- “Stupid Halloween costume” Daniel Molloy the brat that you are (is okay, Armand likes brats) *cough cough*

- I’ve never seen someone *elegantly* close an iPad before. Armand, you have bewitched me.

- The fucking sexual tension between DM is stifling 🥵😶‍🌫️ Um if this is us “not getting Devil’s Minion” then I think imma be okay

- Claudia pushing the little racist boy 🤪🥹 we can’t help but to stan

- WTF AMC you can’t just jumpscare me with a Grace photograph :’)))

- “UP YOUR BUM” EXCUSE ME MORGAN I KNEW YOU WERE FRUITY BUT SIRRRR?

- so the makeup department really put their whole sfxussies into that decrepit ass abomination

- Louis: Alexa, play Mr. Steal Your Girl by Trey Songz

- Claudia calling Louis Daddy in S1: ☺️🍭👼 Claudia calling Louis Daddy in S2: 😖🤢😟

- I’m dubbing Louis “The Rat Prince”

- “If he can’t take you ballroom dancing and call you pretty” ICONIC.

- “the motherfucker” it’s on sight Bruce or Killer or whatever the fuck your name was 🤕🥊

- “her hand twitched like yours would” why was that line lowkey out of pocket. My mans has Parkinson’s Louis !!!!

- SHE DREAMS 😭 MY FUCKING GOD STOP MY EYES ARE GONNA BE PUFFY WHEN I WAKE UP TOMORROW

- that wasn’t even acting that was some REAL shit. Get Jacob Anderson his Emmy or Oscar or Tony or whatever the fuck I just need him to be awarded for his talent

- Daniel’s soft compassionate side: rare but that much more meaningful when it makes an appearance

- LOUIS you did not just do Emilia dirty like that TF!?! She helped you dude.

- “Human affairs. Their problem.” Not you listening to Lestat now of all times

- “Catfish with teeth” Louis can really read a bitch to filth can’t he?

- AHHH THERE ARE TWO OF THE FUCKERS 👹👹

- Oh shit he’s a kid okay I’m sorry for calling you an abomination earlier. That was mean.

- Woman vampire, you standing precariously close to that fire 👀

- Delainey’s facial expressions are the perfect blend of innocent and slightly unsettling

- OPP INTO THE FIRE SHE GOES rip 🔥

- What the hell is a bacon triptych am I just stupid don’t answer that

- Armand you ain’t beating the iPad kid allegations

- “It’s his drug” He said that with such malice. Is this a “he needed me but he needed drugs more” plot line???

- So Dubai Loumand is chilly frigid tepid frosty glacial

- Free feet? Okay im sorry

- “We can have him saying what happened next in no time” okay wait hold up why you making it sound like YOU don’t know what happened next and you need him to tell you???

- oh danny boy whistling while the couple he’s counseling walks in… is this a comedy or ?

- Daniel: yeah? 🤓 Armand: yeah 🫦

- “the mother of New Orleans” oh he misses home

- LMFAO Daniel interrupting Armand before he can start soliloquizing

- Louis and Claudia in a truck full of art which they belong in bc they too are pieces of art to me

- hard words. soft words. 🥺

- “a shit life beats no life” god damn this monologue feels like Louis is speaking directly to my soul

- “as long as you walk the earth I’ll never taste the fire” If this is foreshadowing I- I- I don’t know what I’ll do but it’s going to involve a baseball bat and a waffle iron and my head

- “it would be enough” pan to Lestat 💀 you can’t be fucking serious right now you just cannot

- okay it’s over and the teaser for the season just started playing and I just have to shout out the score bc damn if those violins don’t get me every god damn time

(Stutter) That’s all, folks! 🐷👋

[suckerforprettyboys]

illicit affairs- g.hawthorne

in which a simple interview starts fierce rumors of a secret romance.

wc: 1.3K

my inbox is open for requests! xoxo

The backstage room was cloaked in an awkward silence, broken only by the distant echoes of the camera and make-up crew doing their last minute touches. You, a well known and respected interviewer, were sitting patiently waiting for your interviewee to enter the room. You had your papers neatly stacked, hair perfectly set how you liked it, and a bright smile ready. 

Interviews were nothing new for you, it was quite literally your job, but today’s interview would be rather difficult in comparison to the usual interviews. You were interviewing a well known businessman and entrepreneur, the heir to the Hawthorne fortune: Grayson Davenport Hawthorne. 

Your mind is sucked from your thoughts as the door swings open, a rather annoyed and stoic looking Grayson straightening up his suit. He walks over, sticking out his hand for a handshake.

“Grayson Hawthorne, pleased to meet you,” he introduces himself, not even cracking a smile. 

You introduce yourself as well, presenting a sweet smile to go along with your words. He just stares at you, unimpressed, almost looking bored. 

“Oh boy, he seems like a joy” you think to yourself, not letting the negativity of your thoughts slip into your kind and warm demeanor. 

As the two of you settle into the interview space, the atmosphere grows increasingly frosty and tense. Grayson was clearly not in the mood to answer any hard hitting questions today, answering with the most vague responses possible. This left you to navigate through a maze of one-worded answers and dismissive gestures. 

It soon became evident that this interview would be a test of your ability to crack the enigma that was Grayson Hawthorne. 

The minutes ticked by slowly, and you pressed on, determined to unravel the layers of the unyielding celebrity. Little did they know, this encounter would become a battle of wits, a dance between an interviewer seeking to break through his icy demeanor and a stubborn man determined to maintain his impenetrable facade. 

Despite the obvious tension in the room, you continue on with your hard hitting questions, determined to get something out of Grayson Hawthorne. The air hung heavy, each question met with unspoken challenges and calculated responses. Grayson wasn’t a lot in your eyes, but the bastard was good. 

In a subtle shift, you decide to take a less business approach to the questions and quite beating around the bush. 

“So,” You smile sneakily, leaning forward as you fold your hands in your lap. “The Heiress, Ms. Grambs. Any comments on her you would like the world to know, or are you gonna shut this topic down too?” You smirk to yourself as you see a slight glimmer in his eye from your boldness. Maybe it was just the set lights that hit his perfect face just right, but you knew damn well he had something to say from the way he brightened up ever so slightly.

“No comment.” He says coldly, shifting in his chair. He crossed one leg of the other in your direction, body language indicating his slight interest in your approach to the questioning. 

He didn’t trust you, but he was opening up. Ever so slightly.

You smile warmly, laughing softly to try and clear the atmosphere. “Well folks, there’s your answer.” You turn back towards Grayson, looking him straight in the eyes as if willing him to give you something, anything. “Not to sound too forward, but you are a very handsome and wealthy young man. You have stated in previous interviews that, and I quote, ‘dating is not your thing, never has been and won’t be for the foreseeable future if you can help it,” You smile sneakily once again. 

“Does that still apply, or has a special someone changed your perspective on that?”

Grayson goes slightly stiff at your words. You take note of this, deciding that this would be that last romance question in an attempt to get him to feel comfortable. 

“I stand by the previous statements made regarding that particular topic.” He says, unfazed and bored. 

You lean back in your seat, uncrossing you legs and sighing, “Mr. Hawthorne, you are one tough cookie to crack.” You laugh, smiling sweetly at him. “I assume privacy is one of the things you value most?”

“Yes, it is.” He nods, but gives no other indication of emotions.

Bingo. You’ve gotten him to talk. And you are running with it. 

You smile, locking eyes with him again, “And is there any particular situation that made that choice set in stone? Or has that just been something you’ve always lived by?” You watch his eyes flicker with something, but you aren’t sure what.

“I grew up watching what the media had done to family members and the little bit they showed the press and chose to just steer clear indefinitely. It is better to avoid a burning building and wonder what would have happened then to walk in and burn.” He folds his hands in his lap, re-cuffing the sleeves.

You smile from ear to ear, overjoyed that he had gotten out more than a few words. “I guess I never thought of it that way.”

“You never had to.” Grayson cuts in, expression cold. It was clear this was a sensitive topic, so you decide not to push any farther. 

“I suppose I never did, my sympathy to those who found out the hard way.” You nod. Then, as if nothing had happened, your bright smile is back.

“Alright, Mr. Hawthorne. I believe that is all the questions I have for today.” You shake his hand again, thanking him for coming out and saying goodbye to your audience. Grayson gets up immediately, looking as if he was fighting to leave the room. 

You choose to ignore it, speaking with the camera crew and production team as the wrap up.

---

Less than a half hour later you are walking back to your dressing room, a nagging feeling in your cut. You feel guilty, not sure for what, but the feeling is there non the less. 

“Fuck it,” You think to yourself, heading towards the guest dressing room.

You knock on the door. No response. 

“Hello?” You call out, only to be met with no response once again. You continue to knock for a few more minutes, ear pressed to the door for any indication of life on the other side of the door.

Eventually, a staff member finds you looking like a creep with your ear pressed to the door. She tells you that Grayson was on his way to his limo and he was quite grumpy. At this news your stomach drops, concerned that you had been the root of his unhappiness. 

You weren’t sure why that particular fact bothered you.

You intercept him outside on the way to his car, hand waving in the air to catch his attention. 

“Mr. Hawthorne!” You yell, causing him to turn. His eyes narrow, brows furrowing as he looks down at you.

“Hi,” You smile, slightly out of breath from chasing him down. “Can I speak with you for a quick second?”

Grayson glances back at his bodyguard, giving a silent signal in the form of a nod. He steps off to the side, nodding at you stiffly. 

“Quickly.” He spits out rather rudely.

“I wanted to apologize.” You say softly, eyes locked on his to show your genuine intention.

This catches Grayson off guard, “Apologize for what exactly?” He slightly quirks a brow, still peering down at you.

“For overstepping the boundaries of the interview. The description of the question I sent your agent had nothing to do with personal life or romance and it was inappropriate of me to ask such things of a total stranger.” You ramble, talking with your hands, the complete opposite from your shiny and perfect interviewer persona. 

Grayson just nods stiffly at you once again, offering no answer as you continue on.

“I’ll have the production team cut anything other than strictly business conversation or we can cut the interview entirely if you wish.”

“No need.” He says quietly. “Just cut the things not described in the papers sent to my agent and myself.”

You let out a sigh of relief, smiling at him “Thank you so much, Mr. Hawthorne”

“Grayson.” He cuts you off. “Just Grayson is ok. Mr. Hawthorne makes me sound old.” He says curtly, turning to leave.

You just stand there as he gets in the limo, waving stiffly at you. Your eyes follow the limo as it leaves, confused as to what had just happened.

The picks up, causing you to shiver slightly, wrapping your arms around yourself. The shutter of a camera catches your attention in the distance. A group of maybe 3 paparazzi were huddled behind a group of bushes, holding their cameras in your direction.

You offer a sweet and warm smile, waving at them as they flick a few more pictures before walking off. You simply shrug, heading back inside for the warmth of the building.

Weird. 

---

Later that evening, you were finishing up with the production team getting the right clips in the right order and making everything look amazing. 

“Ok, guys. Looks great!” You smile proudly, thanking your team for all their great work throughout the day. The sound of your name being called catches your attention, causing you to turn.

Your eyes land on your agent, peeking her head through the door and asking to speak with you outside. You nod, slightly confused, and follow her into the small hallway. 

She looks at you with an odd look, “How are we gonna clean this up?” She says.

“Clean up what?” You laugh nervously, “What happened?”

She quirks an eyebrow at you, telling you to check your phone. You furrow your brows in confusion, pulling out your phone.

The second you laid eyes on it the screen glows with an endless amount of notifications: texts, dm’s, emails, and missed phone calls. Out of curiosity you click on one of the emails, leading you to an article link.

Hawthorne Heir Apparent and Heart-throb Grayson Hawthorne Spotted with Well-Known Interviewer and Possible New Girlfriend, and the cover was a picture of you and Grayson speaking in the parking lot.

Your stomach drops, “Shit.”

[bitter69uk]

Believe it or not, I got sucked into watching the new Netflix documentary about Martha Stewart. My memory about her saga was hazy, especially the legal insider trading scandal. Considering Stewart herself participated, the doc was surprisingly, frankly "warts and all.” (Having said that, the filmmakers let Martha freely disparage her ex-husband and ex-boyfriend of fifteen years, but I was thinking, I would be curious to hear THEIR side of the story, too!). Who Stewart ultimately reminded me of was Betty Draper from Mad Men (imagine frosty impeccable obsessed-with-appearances “Betts” rising to the top as a powerful CEO). Stewart was clearly a blunt, no-nonsense business genius. It raised interesting questions about why we expect her to also be "likable", “humble” and "relatable" too. (I wouldn't want to be on her staff, mind you). Her stint in prison clearly made Stewart a better person. And I completely forgot about her doing the Comedy Central roast for Justin Bieber. Who knew she was so funny – and filthy? Anyway, last night YouTube “recommended" to me an ancient clip of David Letterman reflecting on the 2003 made-for-TV biopic Martha Inc: The Story of Martha Stewart starring the perfectly cast Cybill Shepherd (pictured). Letterman showed little snippets from it (mostly of Stewart berating underlings) to roars of laughter. The highlight: Martha drives up to a woman jogging (an employee who’s having an affair with Stewart’s husband) and screams "Hey, slut! I'm writing your mother a letter telling her you're a whore!” and speeds away. It’s an outrageously campy moment worthy of John Waters and Mink Stole and Shepherd NAILS it. (If Kathleen Turner had been unavailable for Serial Mom (1994), Shepherd would have been a viable alternative for Beverly Sutphin). So, imagine my heartbreak to discover Martha Inc isn’t streaming anywhere in the UK! Not even a grainy pixelated version on YouTube. It’s a hate crime!

[wildshona]

Meeting MAGA

OK, so on Wednesday Chris, Richard and I met two MAGA consultants. They told us that they were dvising the transition team on Europe and we were their first stop – well, Richard and Chris were. Then they were going to Paris, Berlin and, of all places, Budapest.

Anyway we met them at Richard’s cos he has an impressive flat with loads of bookshelves and books in a number of languages about history, politics, foreign affairs and so on. He had prepared a buffet and a presentation which included a map of Europe with, very naughtily I thought, no country names but just the boundaries.

One of the Americans was quite a courtly gentleman with white hair, impeccably dressed, and an absolute caricature of a southern gentleman. His colleague was 25, brash and loud but pretty good looking if I’m honest.

I hadn’t really expected to be there but I, like the map, were a bit of a test.

“And who might this young lady be.” Asks the older guy taking my hand.

This is Shona, Richard replied, she is my aide and an expert on European affairs and especially the current situation on Ukraine. Overstating it I thought and I swear the young MAGA snorted. Now if those reading this post have not read back on my blog far enough you will think, “I thought she was just a time wasting sex maniac without a brain, you know a bimbo.” However, although my education was interrupted when I ran away from home my GCSEs were brilliant, I have been studying under Richard in international politics and history as well as well, sex, and I am in the process of applying to universities. And I am an occasional aide to Richard and I attend all the sessions at events that Chris organises that don’t contain classified information. So there!

Anyway we tuck into the food and the Americans tell us that the President (Trump) had given some clear indications that the UK has to decide whether it was going to be on the side of the EU or the US. Also that he believes that Putin would be amenable to peace and had no further territorial ambitions and would be willing to do a deal with Trump.

I know that foreign affairs are not covered on American TV much so just in case my Followers have missed this Trump has basically threatened the UK that there would be dire consequences for the UK if we got closer to the EU rather than doing a trade deal with the US favourable to the US. The Prime Minister has forcefully responded that allies don’t threaten allies and we would do what we wanted, thank you very much.

Anyway Richard and Chris covered that and the brash young guy, RJ, said that the UK would clearly have to do what the President wanted because the US is a great power. Things were going a bit downhill until Mr Courtly Gentleman basically told RJ to calm down. AS they seem to like initials I think I will call him CG for the purpose of this post.

Anyway in the conversation about Europe RJ, and this is where it started to take a slide, told us that Trump is great friends with Orban and Orban was obviously popular because he had been elected President of Europe. A frosty silence created mainly by the fact that we couldn’t believe what we had heard. Viktor Orban is one of the most reviled politicians in Europe, is widely considered to be a fascist, and is President of the Council of the European Union for six months because it was his turn and much of what he has been trying to do – like changing EU foreign policy – have been boycotted by other leaders. Come January the Presidency will move on to Poland which most certainly will not be cosying up to Putin.

Anyway Richard politely pointed all that out and RJ simply didn’t believe it. AS Orban is called a President he must have been elected, right?

Finally we got on to Ukraine which RJ insisted on calling the Ukraine which is itself a pro-Russian position. Anyway I gave a briefing on the current military position front by front – I do keep up, you know, casualty figures, the fate of the North Koreans and I talked a bit about the troubles Putin was now having in Armenia, Georgia and Kazakhstan.

Richard invited me to comment on the line from RJ and CG that Putin had no further territorial ambitions. I said that if Ukraine fell or became a satellite the next targets would be Moldova and Georgia.

RJ couldn’t help himself and said that the Baltics weren’t important and that Putin was hardly likely to invade the US. We had another one of those silent moments. I calmly pointed out that that Moldova is not a Baltic country and anyway if Putin did invade the Baltics we would all be at war wouldn’t we – unless of course the US failed to honour its NATO obligations in which case Europe would be on its own (again). CG quietly pointed out to RJ that Georgis was a country that bordered Russia. I had not been talking about the US state.

After that we had some brandies and talked about things that didn’t matter largely to lay cover over the fact that RJ knew fuck all about anything to do with Europe. I honestly couldn’t tell you what CG thought or knew.

Anyway all pretty depressing.

Chris, Richard and I had a few more drinks to get over it after they left. I expect they have both been briefing their European networks.

So that was that. If I’ve upset any of my US followers I’m sorry. I promise I’ll get back to being the bimbo you want me to be in future posts. If any of you actually agree with RJ please feel free to unfollow me. I try not to have Trump, Putin or Orban lovers on my list.

Next post back to normal.