#even unlocking like different hairs or hats or glasses or whatever from the different characters

[libra-cant-just-dance]

Might be an unpopular opinion but I don’t like the little smiley face avatars they had pre-JD23.

I like avatars you can customize and they look like something you should be able to make your own of! They mock me. And most of them are boring. I can only excuse the new avatars because it’s cool full body art of the characters (and sometimes the art is really good!!)

[wordsnwhiskey]

As It Should Be | Chapter 4: Company

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x F!Reader x Frankie Morales

Summary: Whiskey gets a surprised call and he and Frankie have a long talk.

Rating: M

Warnings: Talks of drug use, alcohol, mentions of character death, mentions of canon typical violence, PTSD, violent nightmare

A/N: I really wanted this conversation to happen between these two given their respective histories. We all know that Whiskey needed therapy and in this verse he gets it. It’s also my HC, from what I vaguely know (I’m not an expert and I could be very wrong), that Whiskey was an officer in the Air Force where he flew/placed in jets and that’s how he knows how to fly an F-22 (The Silver Pony).

We are getting some angst and some fluff this time folks!

Also, yes I do have a specific soap in mind for Whiskey, it's Old Glory by Duke Cannon

Huge special thanks to mi esposa @danniburgh and my friend Agent Capri Sun for the betas and encouragement!!

Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Chapter 3: Statesmen & Demons | AO3

He was drowning. He needed...something. He needed help.

Frankie pulled his phone out, went to the recent number that was, as of yet, unsaved, and pressed ‘call’. His shaky hand brought the phone up to his ear as the line rang.

Whiskey’s hair was still wet from his shower, and his white t-shirt clung to his damp skin. Eyeing the take out on his counter, he sank into his couch and smiled at your texts:

Whiskey: Thai sound good, sweetheart?

Bourbon: God yes Jack, I’m starving!

Whiskey: I’ll let you know when I get outta the shower, see you soon sweetheart

He was just about to send you a message to come on over when his phone rang. Glancing at the clock on his stove, then back to the unfamiliar Texas number on his caller ID, he frowned.

“Whiskey.”

His greeting was curt. Who the hell would be calling at 8:30 pm on a Wednesday?

“H-hey Whiskey, it’s me, Frankie. Is… uh, is she there?”

Whiskey’s frown deepened, not that he minded Frankie calling him, far from it, but his voice was cracking like he’d been... crying?

“Oh, hey there, Flyboy. No she isn’t, do you need me to get her?”

“N-no, no… I, uh, I don’t want her to see me right now. I’m, uh,” Whiskey could hear Frankie take a deep breath on the other side of the line. “I’m having a bad night, Jack. Could you come get me? I’m at the hotel.”

Jack shot straight up, practically leaping to his feet.

“Did you…?”

The question clung to the air like lead, crushing both of their chests in the silence.

“No, I haven’t… I just… fuck.”

Jack was moving, grabbing his leather jacket, keys, and Stetson, practically sprinting out the door.

“Don’t worry about it, Flyboy. I’m headed your way.”

He shifted his weight while he waited for the elevator to take him to the parking garage, shooting off a quick text to you in apology. Frankie’s words, “I don’t want her to see me,” rung in his ears and he decided to hold off on telling you what had come up, at least until he could see you at the office tomorrow.

Whiskey: Hey sweetheart, sorry something came up and I can’t do dinner tonight. Everything’s fine, see you at the office, sugar. X

Your phone went off and you quickly unlocked it, eager to hear back from Jack so you could head over. A frown pulled the corners of your lips down at his text, but you knew he wouldn’t cancel on you without good reason.

You: See you tomorrow, cowboy. Better make it up to me ;)

Frankie had left the door slightly ajar and was pacing around his room, arms crossed in front of him when he heard a quick knock, then the handle was turning and Whiskey crossed the threshold. He took a cursory glance around the room: nothing but minibar booze bottles, thankfully. Whiskey let out a sigh of relief that was short-lived when he took in Frankie’s demeanor. Frankie’s face was taut with shame, and his gaze refused to rise any higher than Whiskey’s boots.

“I didn’t know who else to call,” Frankie choked out, “ Pope, and Hawk… I can’t disappoint them again. I’ve been clean for three years, and I didn’t…”

Jack shook his head and beckoned Frankie over, wrapping his arm around the other man’s shoulders and pulling him in for a quick, tight hug.

“C’mon, Flyboy, this is not the time nor the place to talk about this. I’m taking you back to my place, and we’re gonna have some whiskey that’s much better than what you’ve had here, and then we can talk.”

Frankie nodded and grabbed his hat, planting it on his head as Whiskey tugged him out of the hotel room. He was so deep in his thoughts and his guilt for having Whiskey come out that he didn’t realize where he was until the elevator dinged. Whiskey unlocked and opened the door to his condo, giving way to a view so incredible Frankie almost forgot to breathe. Across from the entryway, on the far side of the condo, the gorgeous New York night skyline twinkled back at them from beyond the wall of glass windows. Frankie marveled at the rustic elegance of Jack’s home. It had an entirely open floor plan, giving Frankie a view of the dark cherry butcher block island, the top-of-the-line range top, and other appliances, all immaculately clean. For a moment, he wondered if that was because Whiskey ordered out more than he cooked, but then he saw the bags of takeout on the counter and immediately felt guilty.

“I’m sorry, looks like I interrupted your dinner plans.”

Whiskey closed and locked the door behind him, hanging his jacket up on the nearby hook. He glanced over at the takeout, then put his hand on Frankie’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry about it, partner. I just told her something came up. You hungry? I ordered her Drunken Noodles, be a shame to put them to waste.”

Frankie was about to decline when his stomach rumbled, and Whiskey chuckled.

“C’mon, Flyboy, go sit down on the couch and I’ll bring the food and some whiskey round.”

With a nod, he toed his dress shoes off (they were all he had without his go bag) and made for the brown leather couch. He sat down a bit stiffly, feeling awkward given the circumstances. Whiskey brought over the containers of food, handing one to Frankie and resting his own on the coffee table before grabbing them the promised drinks. He sat down, and Frankie took his drink in one hand, relishing in the smooth burn as he took a sip, then set it down to dive into his food.

They ate in a relaxed and cozy silence. Frankie finished first, which wasn’t a surprise. When Whiskey finished, he took Frankie’s empty container with him to toss in the garbage before he made his way back. An awkward silence replaced the previous comfortable one, and Frankie found himself having a hard time pulling his gaze from the amber liquid in his glass. Whiskey took a deep breath, then turned on the couch to face Frankie.

“Santiago said you’ve been clean for three years? That’s quite the accomplishment.”

“Yeah, thanks. Doesn’t really feel like it right now. I feel like I failed. I’m worried I’ll slip up.”

“I don’t think you will, Frankie. Neither do Pope or Bourbon.”

Jack didn’t know why, but the words rang true in his mind, even though he hadn’t known Frankie for very long.

“You don’t seem like the kind of guy to throw three years of hard work away, Flyboy.”

A small smile tugged at Frankie’s lips and he took a sip from his glass.

“Must’ve been weird for Halcón. Last time she saw me, fuck, I was barely with it. The suspension hit me hard. I had been getting my shit together before Colombia and the funeral. I just wanted to be able to fly. I couldn’t and still can’t stand the idea of being grounded. That, and I knew my fianceé would leave me if I didn’t get it together. But then, well, we all went to Colombia.”

“I couldn’t imagine being grounded. I don’t fly often, but to not have the option? I dunno what I’d do.”

Whiskey shook his head and grimaced. Frankie perked up, head snapping to meet Whiskey’s gaze.

“You fly?”

“Mmmhmm, was in the Air Force for a bit, did jets. Statesmen has an F-22, the Silver Pony, that I fly.”

A small buzz of excitement was washing over Frankie, and he subconsciously scooted closer to Whiskey. He didn’t really have anyone to talk to about flying, even if helicopters and jets were two very different means of flying.

“What made you risk it, Flyboy? What happened in Colombia?”

Frankie frowned and let out a deep sigh.

“Pope had been down there for a few years, chasing a narco named Gabriel Martín Lorea. He finally got a break when his CI told him she knew where he was hiding out and where he was stashing his money. He showed up outta the blue asking us, our old team, to come down and do recon, $17k just for a week of recon. If we wanted to stay on after that, we’d be entitled to 25% of whatever we seized, and the rumour was that Lorea had $75M on him. I’m guessing Halcón was busy with a mission for you guys, and I’m glad she was. It ended up being a fucking shitshow.”

Whiskey noted the faraway look in Frankie’s eyes as he sighed and took another swig from his glass, shaking his head as Frankie recalled the events.

“After the recon, Pope said he thought we could do the job ourselves, take all the money and not tell the local governments. We found out that the local agency hadn’t been the ones to pay us the $17k. That had come out of Pope’s pocket. He was so sure that the locals were on Lorea’s payroll, and if he went to the local agency, Lorea would disappear with the money. At the end of the day, none of us could say no. Turned out the rumors of Lorea having $75M were wrong. The house was stuffed, literally, with cash. Tom, our captain, got greedy. He ignored our hard-out time and insisted we take more loads of cash. We ended up stealing close to $250M, then we burned the house down.”

Whiskey whistled. “$250M is a lot of money, partner…”

Frankie barked out a humorless laugh, his eyes rueful.

“Too much. Our helo couldn’t take it all and make it over the Andes. I knew it before take off, and I warned Tom and Pope, but all any of us could see was the money. Tom didn’t want to leave it on the runway. I almost had us over the Andes when a gearbox blew, and I had to get us back to flat. We had to cut the money net, and it was just our luck that it happened to be over a coke farm. It was a bad landing. I honestly don’t know how none of us were seriously injured, but Pope and Tom went to go and convince the farmers to get out of the money. Our comms were out, so we were going off of hand signals. Tom got too trigger happy, and he dropped a few of the villagers. I-I provided cover fire, too…”

Frankie hung his head, no matter how much Will, Benny, or Pope had tried to reassure him, he still held an enormous amount of guilt over what had happened. He felt Whiskey’s hand rest on his shoulder, and he leaned into the touch.

“That’s what you were trained to do, Flyboy. You couldn’t have known any different, especially without comms.”

Frankie nodded, taking a large gulp of his whiskey, then continued on.

“A couple days later, we took fire in the mountains, and they got Tom. It ended up being a kid and another guy from the coke farm. We killed them, but there was nothing we could do for Tom. Headshot, he died instantly. 10 years we all served together, and then he was gone, leaving behind an ex and two daughters. It could have been any one of us though, Jack… we all took lives during that mission. Tom just took the wrong ones. It… it could have been me even, I shot some of those villagers, too.”

Frankie felt Whiskey’s grip on his shoulder tighten and looked up to see the empathetic sadness of someone who truly understood how he felt reflected back in Whiskey’s eyes. Frankie cleared his throat.

“We ended up bailing on a lot of the cash, taking only what we could carry in our daypacks and tossing the rest in a ravine so we could haul Tom’s body out with us. At the end of it, we made out with around $5M, but we all agreed it should go to Tom’s family. I got back to find my fianceé had left. She couldn’t stand my leaving with Pope. Looking back, my addiction is probably what really did us in, but I was devastated to come home to an empty house after everything that had happened. Things got… dark after that. I fell back on old habits, fuck, I had barely been clean a few months when we went to Colombia. I didn’t want to think about what we’d done there, didn’t want to feel the emptiness, didn’t want to sleep and deal with the nightmares. I was a mess, and I… uh, I took too much one day. Pope found me unconscious, lying on the ground, and got me to the hospital. When I came to, I realized I didn’t want to end up dead in my shitty apartment, once they discharged me, I checked into rehab.”

Frankie took another drink. No one other than Pope knew that knocking on death’s door had been the turning point for him. Whiskey chewed on his lip, taking a drink and debating whether he should share his past as well.

“Drugs are… a terrible thing to get hooked on. My high school sweetheart, carrying my unborn son, was murdered by two meth head freaks robbing a fucking convenience store. I was on leave from the Air Force, waiting for them to come home when I got the call. I didn’t realize how much it festered in me until about a year back when we were taking down the Golden Circle.”

Frankie nodded. He remembered that he had been glad he was clean by then.

“I’m sorry, Whiskey… I didn’t know, I shouldn’t have-”

Jack’s hand moved from Frankie’s shoulder to rub his back reassuringly.

“Listen, the things you’ve done and seen for our country… and not, well, it’s a lot, and I know it’s not the same as the freaks who… it’s not the same. I almost sabotaged the mission. My hate-addled brain thought it would be justice… It was Bourbon who very literally knocked me on my ass and kept me from making a decision I’d regret. She encouraged me to see a Statesmen counselor, which has been a lot of work, but has been more helpful than I ever thought it would be. Have you thought about that?”

Frankie was distracted for a moment by Jack’s hand. It felt nice, reassuring, safe, things that had been sorely lacking for him today.

“I have and I did, well, I had to as part of the program, and I kept it up for a bit after. It helped, but… I couldn’t really talk about what happened with Tom. Sure there’s confidentiality and all that, but what we did is all kinds of illegal. I couldn’t exactly bring that to a session or group.”

Frankie snorted, a ghost of a smile tugged at a corner of his mouth.

“Really though, aside from the program I was in after rehab to get my license back, I’ve gotten some hobbies and some other out-outlets. This was just a lot. I needed to not be alone.”

Jack cocked his head at the way Frankie stuttered and subconsciously fidgeted with the bandage on his right wrist. He had picked up from the night prior that Frankie had a thing for pain, and Frankie’s reaction when he had bandaged him up was further proof of that. But using it as his sole outlet or method of working through his issues was something he wouldn’t enable. His eyes narrowed, and before Frankie could blink, Jack snatched his left hand, mindful of the tender marks as he held fast and fixed Frankie with a hard stare. Frankie flinched at the sudden movement then his eyes widened a little.

“You know this ain’t a solution, Flyboy.”

Jack’s voice had an edge to it bordering on a growl. Frankie shook his head quickly.

“Shit, no, Whiskey, the i-impact p-play stuff, i-it’s an outlet, and it’s not my only outlet. I met my old partners, Sam and then later on her husband, a year and a half or two years ago. I was a year clean before I even had my first session with either of them. I met Sam when she booked a flight tour, and one thing led to another… She’d come back into town and sometimes her husband would come with, but we all kept everything pretty quiet. They helped me relax, and they had their fun.”

Frankie was doing his best to be nonchalant, but he couldn’t help the slight bitterness creeping into his voice. Maybe it had to do with the fact that Jack’s tone had thrown him off guard, unexpectedly stirring something in him. Whiskey, of course noticed on both counts, having been trained to do so. He could see through Frankie a mile away. Frankie nervously took another sip from his glass, shuddering as Whiskey’s thumb gingerly rubbed circles over the marks, seemingly accepting his explanation.

“You know, had I known about your… interests, I would have done things a bit differently last night, Flyboy.” He winked at Frankie, then smirked as he examined Frankie’s wrist more thoughtfully. “How are they doing?”

“G-good, thanks. And uh, well, you’re one of 3 people who know.” Frankie murmured.

Whiskey’s eyebrows raised slightly in surprise as he nodded and released Frankie’s hand.

“Really? Not Pope or Bourbon?”

“Are you kidding me? Pope would never let me hear the end of it. There are some things he doesn’t need to know.” Frankie chuckled and shook his head. “And Halcón? Well, there was never any reason for her to know. We never did anything together before last night.”

“How long has it been since you last saw Sam or her husband?”

Frankie downed the rest of his whiskey, eyes far away for a moment, remembering their last session, the sharp pain followed by a rush of endorphins and the occasional soothing praise. He shook his head gently, blinking himself out of his memories at the feeling of Jack’s warm hand on his knee.

“It’s been a while, six months? They moved overseas.”

There was a beat of silence, Whiskey could sense there was something up, it was a subtle shadow flitting across Frankie’s face. He decided to push a little more.

“Did you have feelings for them?”

“It was complicated.”

The edge in Frankie’s voice was tinged with pain, and he tried to cover it up with a laugh that came out humorless.

“I guess it isn’t that complicated. After six months, things shifted, and they made it clear I wasn’t part of their long term plan. It became very transactional, which was fine, but there was less and less... care after.”

“Oh.”

The response slipped from Jack’s lips, and he was momentarily stunned quiet before his temper began to flare. His index finger and thumb gently gripped Frankie’s chin, forcing him to meet his gaze.

“Listen carefully, Flyboy. What I did last night was the bare minimum of what someone should do in that kind of situation. Anything less is negligent. Christ, how was this ever stress relief for you if you were left to free fall afterwards?”

Whiskey’s voice was calm and even, but Frankie could see the fury raging in his eyes. Sensing Whiskey’s desire for understanding, he nodded then shrugged.

“I guess I’d try to go on a hike with one of the guys or go train at the gym.”

Silence fell between them, a muscle in Whiskey’s jaw clenching before he glanced at the clock and let out a deep sigh, willing himself to calm down.

“It’s already just about midnight, Flyboy. Why don’t you go shower, and I’ll put on a clean bandage for you once you’re done. You can use my bathroom. There’s a clean towel hanging you can use. Don’t worry about clothes, I’ll leave something for you to sleep in on my bed so you can change while I set up the guest room for you.”

Frankie was about to protest, saying he could do his own bandages, but Whiskey fixed him with a stare and shook his head.

“Go on Flyboy, get yourself in the shower. Head down the hall, second door on the left. Your room is across the hall. I’ll be waiting there with the medkit when you’re done.”

Whiskey took Frankie’s empty glass and stood, taking their glasses to the sink while Frankie got up and made his way to the shower. A pensive frown tugged at Whiskey’s lips. Tonight certainly explained a lot of things. The sharp fury that permeated Whiskey’s chest when they were talking about Frankie’s previous partners returned. How could someone not be bothered with aftercare? It was also clear that Frankie felt abandoned by them. On some level, the poor man was probably terrified of that happening again, if he even entertained the thought of something between the three of you. Whiskey waited a few moments until he heard the water running before heading into his room. He let out a sigh as he grabbed a white t-shirt and a pair of linen shorts for Frankie to wear, leaving them on the bed before he left to make sure the guest room was all set.

Frankie undressed quickly, folding his clothes and setting them down on the vanity in a neat pile crowned with his hat. Next, he made quick work of unwrapping the bandage around his wrist and tossing the materials in the garbage. He let out a sigh of relief as he stepped into the shower and the hot water scoured the last two days from his skin. The relief was quickly replaced with a small whine of pain as the water hit his wrist. Closing his eyes and bracing himself against the wall with his forearm he breathed through the pain, acclimating to the sensation. Frankie took a minute to just exist, trying to enjoy the quiet that had slowly crept back into his mind. Taking a deep breath, he set to work getting himself clean. The steam made the air thick and heavy with the scent of Whiskey’s soap, something akin to leather and tobacco leaves. It clung to Frankie’s lungs, and he could have stayed there enjoying it for considerably longer. But, he didn’t want to keep Whiskey waiting, so he rinsed off and hopped out of the shower. He toweled off, smirking to himself when he saw it was monogrammed (because of course it was), then headed out and changed quickly into the shirt and shorts that had been left for him.

Whiskey looked up in time to see Frankie stride through the doorway wearing his shirt and shorts, smelling like him, his soap. He swallowed thickly and tried to recover with a smile.

“Feel better, Flyboy? C’mon, sit down. Let’s have a look.”

Frankie nodded, then took a seat next to Whiskey on the bed and gave him his right hand. Whiskey hummed his approval at the lack of resistance from Frankie, something the pilot felt tug at his chest.

“This is looking much better, Flyboy, should be completely healed in a few days.”

Whiskey smiled as he finished tending to and wrapping up Frankie’s wrist. Without prompting, Frankie offered his other wrist and Whiskey couldn’t bite back the smirk that followed. He was glad though, glad that Frankie was trusting him with this and was embracing these moments, even if it was for something small. Frankie’s left wrist was considerably better off, but even so, Whiskey was still gentle as he looked him over.

Frankie’s heart fluttered at the intimacy of what was happening. Here was Jack, a man he’d known for barely 48 hours, who was taking care of him, who had dropped everything to come get him, who had spent his evening letting Frankie talk. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had treated him this way.

There was an overwhelming urge building in his chest, and without thinking, he acted on it.

He gripped the collar of Whiskey’s t-shirt with one hand, tugging him closer as Frankie leaned in and kissed him. Whiskey was shocked for a moment, it had been the last thing he had been expecting, but he quickly recovered when he felt Frankie’s tongue swipe at his lip. His hand rested along the column of Frankie’s throat, thumb grazing over the scruff along his jaw as he deepened the kiss, leaning into Frankie and tasting him.

A small moan pulled Jack back to his senses, resting his forehead against Frankie’s and cupping his jaw with this other hand. They both panted, trying to catch their breath, and Whiskey smiled as he gave Frankie another quick kiss. For a moment, Frankie was worried he had overstepped when Whiskey cut off their kiss, but looking into the other man’s eyes, he knew that wasn’t the case.

“You’ve had a long day, Flyboy, we’re not gonna do anything tonight. Tomorrow though, if you want, I could help you get rid of some of that stress and help you come down the right way. No rush, no pressure, you can say no and nothing changes. I don’t want an answer right now either, sleep on it.”

Frankie’s breath quickened and his pupils dilated at the thought, but one thing nagged at him.

“What about Halcón?”

Whiskey chuckled and patted Frankie’s shoulder.

“Well it’s what we both want, in a manner of speaking. She’d be onboard, but she doesn’t have to know exactly what we do for now unless you’re comfortable with it. A lot of this is stuff I know she wants to go over on Friday, but for now, when it comes to me and Bourbon, keep an open mind and try not to overthink it, partner. If you want to do this tomorrow, then we can do it. If not, no harm, no foul, you’re still welcome to stay here and keep me company.”

Frankie nodded, still processing what Whiskey had said and more than a little surprised that Whiskey was inviting him back regardless of his decision. Whiskey stood up then, squeezing Frankie’s shoulder.

“G’night, Flyboy. Holler if you need anything.”

Frankie was back in Colombia. He felt sluggish, his feet refusing to respond the way he wanted them to. He saw the villager from the cocaine farm pop up from the rocky outcrop, but Frankie couldn’t move, couldn’t draw his gun to take him out. He cried out in anguish as the man fired.

“No! Tom!”

Then he was surrounded by Pope, Benny, Will, you, and Whiskey, statuesque as the man who killed Tom lined up and dropped Pope, moving his way down the line. Frankie was sobbing now, he was being swallowed up by the ground, sinking helplessly as the people he cared for were murdered.

Whiskey woke with a start to the sound of shouting.

Ripping the sheet and comforter off, Whiskey glanced at the clock. It read 01:30 and he sighed. Frankie just couldn’t catch a break.

“P-please, No! Po-Pope, God, n-no, Hal-Halcón! Whiskey!”

He really didn’t want to shake Frankie awake, worried as to how he might react waking up from that sort of dream, but Jack had to do something.

“Hey, Frankie, I’m right here, you gotta wake up. Wake up, Flyboy.”

Frankie shot up, feeling like ice water had been poured down his spine. He was wild-eyed and breathing heavily, but once again, Whiskey’s soothing words served to ground him, and he clung to them with all he had. He felt Whiskey pull him into a hug, and Frankie didn’t care about the awkward angle, he clung to the embrace as well.

Whiskey’s heart ached at the way Frankie clutched at him after hearing him call out Pope’s, his, and your names. He had a vague idea of what might have happened, he still had dreams where he couldn’t save his loved ones every now and then. Once Frankie’s breathing calmed a bit, Whiskey tugged him up out of bed.

“C’mon Flyboy, you’re coming with me.”

Frankie didn’t argue, he just followed, grateful that Whiskey was pulling him by his hand, needing that point of contact. Whiskey pulled back the covers on the side opposite of his and waited until Frankie crawled in before he pulled the covers over him, then slid in on his side of the bed. He scooted a bit closer, not wanting to crowd Frankie unless he wanted the contact, and was pleased when the other man scooted back until his back rested against Jack’s chest.

“Get some sleep, Flyboy. I’ve got you.”

Sooner than he expected, Whiskey heard soft snores coming from Frankie. He smiled then wrapped his arm around him and pulled him closer.

Thank you for reading! Reblogs & comments are much appreciated!

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[ramblings-of-a-mad-cat]

Penpal anon- the different friendship rewards. I know Alanza already has one but consider her hairstyle as sort of an extra reward. Sam’s reward would be her hairstyle as well (curly hair with part of it in a pony tail) maybe the ilvermony uniform. Gavril’s could be his glasses or the ability to have an actual dog as a pet? For Sam it could be a regular bunny. Though mc has enough pets already.

I seriously love Alanza’s hairstyle, I feel like it’s the sort of thing that would be right up the alley of the Fawleys. Any of them could unironically wear that hair and rock it. Even Jacob. Especially Jacob. In general, how great would it be if they added secondary friendship prizes? Especially for characters like Beatrice or Charlie, where there’s a much better and obvious reward that we could get? (I want. Their jackets. Give them to me, JC. What do I need with a Witch’s hat and a Jedi ponytail?) or characters like Penny, who just badly need a new reward? (It can be her braids for all I care, just...something better than that weird tool belt. I know it’s supposed to hold potions, but that does not come across at all. At least let us wear it with other things...)

I would die for the Ilvermorny uniform. Blue and cranberry? Yes please. I know Ilvermorny and especially the school’s origin story have come under a lot of fire, that they aren’t exactly popular...but I still enjoyed the hell out of the story and while my first choice could never be anything but Hogwarts...I wouldn’t be too disappointed that Ilvermorny is my geographically assigned school. Minnesota though. That would be unreasonably cold. Apart from that, a unique hairstyle could be fun! I’ve been working on one of my OCs recently, and I decided that she wears a side-ponytail. That could be her reward! 

Oh my god, the ability to unlock a new breed of pet as a LV 10 reward? That is...wow. That is some next level thinking. That’s big brain. It interconnects several of the game’s “economic” features in a clever way. Imagine if one of them was breeding/raising these animals, whatever they may be - dogs, rabbits, or even a magical pet like a Fwooper. (I want a Fwooper. They look soft.) And by LV 10, MC proves themself capable of caring for one? Though in the interests of fairness and to make it feel like a real reward, how about they are presented with the default pet for free at the end of the rainbow, though they’d still have to spend notebooks on new skins for it. 

[flamehairedwritings]

Queen of the Night

Characters: Steve Rogers x Plus-Size!Female Reader

Words: 3,111

Rating: M, 16+ ONLY

A/N: Hi, there. This has been written for @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan‘s Full Figured Fantasy Challenge with the prompt: ‘There is no wrong way to have a body’. 

It’s a very personal story so I hope you enjoy.

This story contains swearing and bad intrusive thoughts about your body.

Summary: At a Stark party, it’s up for debate who’s more uncomfortable; you or Steve Rogers.

EDIT: Read Part II here.

MASTERLIST

Please don’t copy, steal or repost my work; credit does not count. 

You should’ve known you’d regret it.

Yet you’d felt confident at the time.

Sexy, even, and that wasn’t something you often felt.

Oh my God, I look fucking amazing.

That had been two weeks ago when you were alone in your bedroom and the lighting had been warm and the mirror had been angled perfectly, as it always was.

Now, at Stark’s party, surrounded by bright lights, photographers and all the beautiful and elite of the city, you’re feeling very differently.

Why did I have to go with a fucking body-con.

The dress is gold, clings to you and stops just above your knees. You have no way of hiding and you so desperately want to. You can’t even leave; you’ve retreated to the furthest corner of the large room where’s it moderately quieter and where no members of the paparazzi are lurking. Even the thought of walking across the room, passing people, passing the photographers outside again, is making you sweat and your chest tighten; you have to keep switching the empty glass from one hand to the other so it won’t slip from your warm palms.

“Another one, ma’am?” 

Oh, fuck off.

The waitress has returned, a full glass on her tray. She’s giving you the same look as before which she probably thinks is coming off as kindly sympathetic but it’s just pitying. Sheer, fuck-off pitying. 

“Yes, thank you.” You smile politely, swapping your glass for the one she offers.

She gives the same chummy smile as before, then turns and leaves. 

You release a breath and take a long sip, your gaze flicking about the room. 

Everyone’s here tonight, all members of the Avengers, field agents and agents you work with in the offices, which should be comforting but is, in fact, the complete opposite.

You work with these people. You’ve all seen each other at your emotional best and worst. You’ve all seen each other without make-up, in sweats, greasy-haired, huge red spots on your faces, and no one bats an eyelid. 

So why is this different?

You know why. No one’s ever seen you in anything tighter than a pant suit.

Stop feeling like shit, it’s so ridiculous.

It’s not like they don’t know you’re fat, fuller figured, plus-sized, large, curvy, whatever word people want to use to define your body, it’s not like they don’t know. It’s not some great secret. It’s just different when you’re sat at your desk helping to save lives because that’s the sole focus.

Now, here, the focus is on each other. It’s a party; people go to parties to fuck, drink and dance. It’s the only chance you all get to relax a little and let go some what. The Avengers can’t, not at these things, they have to be ‘the face’ and act accordingly, but the agents can go relatively wild. You know they’ll all be gossiping about who fucked who tomorrow.

You wonder if they’ll gossip about you, too.

It won’t be cruel. You get on with everyone you work with; you’re never without a witty comment, you’re damn good at your job and you always bring baked goods in for Friday breakfast.  

It’ll be the same as the waitress, though. It’ll be pitying, grateful-it’s-not-them whispering about how brave you were to wear the dress, how proud they were that you did it. You’ve already had a few comments of ‘Yes, girl!’ and ‘Holy shit, look at you!’ from colleagues as you passed them to get to this safe corner, but it just sounded so false, too forced. Like they knew you needed the confidence boost.

Go home.

How, though? You’ve led high-risk missions on the other side of the world through an ear-piece and helped negotiate with one of the most temperamental crime lords in the world but you can’t walk across a damn room, order a damn cab and go home.

“Hey.”

Oh, thank fuck.

Turning at the quiet voice, you are welcomed by the sight of the only person in the room probably more uncomfortable than you; Steve Rogers.

And you’ve never felt more relieved.

“Hi,” you answer, matching his smile as he stands at your side, hands in his pockets and his eyes on the steadily escalating dance-off in the centre of the room; Agent Barton’s still winning.

“Not gonna show everyone how it’s done?”

“I will when you do.”

He exhales a laugh, one corner of his mouth rising higher than the other. “I’ll let you know when hell freezes over.” 

Silence falls as you sip your drink and he continues to watch his team members dance, Sam Wilson literally throwing his hat into the ring and becoming a strong contender for the winner, and it’s wonderfully comfortable.

You’ve collaborated with Steve on nearly every single one of his missions outside of the Avengers Initiative, and over that time an easy, what you dare to call friendship has formed, one born from the trust you’ve both earned from one another and the respect in your logical, like-minded way of thinking. You were also one of the few who didn’t lobby hard to collaborate with him when he joined SHIELD; sure, you’d made the application, same as everyone else because who wouldn’t want to work with Captain America, but you hadn’t gone out of your way to ‘bump’ into him during training or sent him a hand-written, 13 page letter detailing how he had inspired you to become an agent. 

You were nervous before your final interview, having made it to the last three applicants, but you knew you wouldn’t think it the end of the world if you didn’t get the job. Then you’d entered the room and found you’d be having a one-to-one interview with Captain Steve Rogers.

You’d never spoken to him before, only seen him in halls and meetings, and as he rose from his chair and shook your hand, you’d tried very hard to ignore the fact you were shaking hands with a living legend and icon. Albeit a tired but very polite living legend and icon.

He didn’t want to be there but you weren’t offended; this wasn’t how he was used to doing things. He was used to being given information, being dropped into the mission zone and figuring out for himself how best to work through it. He probably wasn’t thrilled at the notion of having someone with less experience in his ear giving him updates every few minutes, making sure he ticked boxes and advising what would be best to do.

In fact, you’d told him that. That had been your opening introduction. You had no idea where it had come from. You weren’t usually that bold with superiors unless it mattered, but something in you had told you this was a time when it mattered. You’d told him that and more, saying you would guide when guidance was needed and advise when advising was needed.

He had blinked in surprise then sat back in his chair and smiled.

Since then it had been the easiest of partnerships. You trusted each other’s judgements, rarely, strongly, disagreed and you both actually, genuinely got on very well. He didn’t mind in the middle of a mission if you started talking about a TV series you were watching, and you didn’t mind that he often called you ‘Hepburn’, a nickname born from when, a couple of months into your new role, he’d told you you’d reminded him of Katharine Hepburn with your assertive opening statement.

At times he’d had to defend you to your superiors for not bringing him in when they’d advised or not reporting him when he’d done something they’d prohibited, and you had got him out of more situations than you cared to count. 

You could read each other irritatingly well, so there is no doubt in your mind he knows how uncomfortable you are and the reason for it.

Great.

Drawing his eyes away after a few minutes as Sam is seemingly declared the winner, though Barton seems to just be calling a time-out, Steve looks to you.

“You seem to have done the impossible in this place and found a quiet corner.”

Oh, fuck, is he going to broach the subject now? Why did I wear this fucking dress?

You raise your eyebrows as you nod at the small table before you with an obnoxiously large floral arrangement on it which you’d been using as cover, though he’d still found you. 

“I can’t take all the credit, that’s doing most of the work.”

Then, beyond the flowers, you spot a middle-aged couple whispering to each other as they near, one of them trying, and failing, to subtly either film or take a picture of Steve.

“Oh, don’t look now, we’ve been spotted, Captain,” you murmur, glancing up at him.

He exhales a quiet sigh as his teeth briefly graze over his lower lip. “I’m sorry, I’ve ruined your peace.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it, I was thinking of leaving now, anyway.”

Once I’d stopped being a child and made my legs work.

“Yeah, me, too.” Gazing over your head, you can see the plan he’s forming. “Come on.” 

Gently tapping a finger tip against your hand, he then passes behind you and opens the door to your left.

Oh my God, that was unlocked the whole time?

Holding it open for you, he gestures with his head for you to pass through. 

You don’t need telling twice. 

“You memorised the layout of the place, didn’t you?”

He glances over at you, looking nowhere near as sheepish as the situation probably demands. “Well, it makes for an easier exit.”

The wind carries your laugh. 

He’d taken the lead after you’d passed through the door and had known every turn to take, almost as if he’d spent the night before planning various escape routes. 

Thank God.

You’d eventually come out behind the building and you’d just arched an eyebrow at him as you spotted his car parked across the street.

Again, thank God.

Then, as you’d gotten in to the car, he’d said something that was even more amazing than getting you out of there.

“You fancy getting pizza?”

“Am I ever going to say no to that?”

He’d laughed at your faux-incredulous response, but you had hesitated for a moment. Eating, in this dress, feeling as you were..?

But then you’d thought, Fuck it, I want pizza.

And that’s how you found yourself sitting on a bench with Steve, a box of pizza between you, gazing out across a lake.

“Do you want the last slice?”

You really do, but... Having had five slices, sat there in a gold dress that makes you stand out like a shining star in the night sky, you wonder for the first time what Steve thinks when he sees you.

You hate the thought as soon as it enters your head.

You’ve gotten this far without thinking it about him; you think it with nearly everyone else you see, but you’d been raised with the idea of Steve just being this golden boy who was kind to everyone, never had a bad or judgemental thought about anyone. It was rare you and Steve were really in front of each other, so much of your work was over the phone or earpiece or through video calls. Even in briefings you’d be sat at a table and you’d be carrying a pile of folders in front of you. It hadn’t crossed your mind to think about what he thought of your body, until now.

“You all right, Hepburn?”

You’re pulled from your intrusive thoughts by his question and shift your gaze over to him. 

“Hm? Yeah, sure, just in a bit of a food coma, that’s all.” Even you can hear how forced your laugh is. “You have it.”

He eyes you for a moment before lifting the slice and taking a large bite.

“Thanks for escaping with me, by the way. You really have been with me every single step of the way.”

Oh, God.

This is the beginning of his roundabout, old man way of getting you to open up, you know it is.

“Nearly every step,” you counter, unable to stop a smile from forming despite yourself.

“Oh yeah,” he muses through a mouthful. “Panama. Say, where were you again?”

“In Ibiza, holidaying for the first time in ten years. You ever heard of a holiday? You should try it sometime.”

“I think I have. Wasn’t that invented in the 60s?”

He wipes his mouth with a napkin as you laugh and, damn it, let your guard down.

“What’s going on, Hepburn?” he asks gently, dropping the half-eaten slice back into the box and wiping the grease from his hands. “What’s going on in that brain?”

Your smile falters as you look at him. A quiet breath you realise you’ve been holding leaves you. Looking down at your hands, you fiddle with a ring on your finger.

He waits patiently, keeping his gaze on you.

Just say it.

“Steve... What do you think when you look at me?”

It nearly kills you to say it. You don’t want to know the answer. You don’t want to listen to him. You want to be far away, back in your bedroom with three covers over you and your laptop balanced on your thighs, watching your new favourite show. You want to escape again.

Steve blinks. He hadn’t known what to expect but it certainly wasn’t that.

“I think you’re a very intelligent, debatably hilarious person who I like and I want to be around.”

Your hands pause. Your eyes flick over to him. “... That’s it?”

He blinks again, now feeling rather sheepish. “Do you want more? You are hilarious, you know, it’s not debatable and ─ “

“No,” you quickly cut him off before he gets too carried away. “Well, yes, no, I just thought...”

“You thought what?” he presses after you trail off.

Lifting your gaze to the night sky, you blow out a breath and a second after it, it all just comes out.

“My body, Steve, I thought you’d say something about my body because, you know, how could you not? I know you’re probably just being polite but, come on, it’s the first thing people see when they look at me, you know. It’s not exactly avoidable. I know how people think, Steve, even if they’re my friend they must think some bullshit sympathy thing every time they look at me, you know, people in this world can’t just look at someone for their personality and, I know, I know, I’m more than my body, it doesn’t matter what other people think, I know all that, I tell myself all of that and most days I believe it, I really do, most days I don’t care but sometimes it’s just, some days are hard, especially when I decide to wear a bright fucking gold dress that shows every part of my body and I don’t like it, I don’t like the way I look sometimes and I hate that, I hate that I just can’t... Get over it.”

Another breath rushes out of you, slightly shuddered, and you beg yourself not to cry.

Oh, God, please don’t cry, please don’t fucking cry now.

He doesn’t say anything and you can’t look at him.

Then you feel his hand gently settle over yours, seizing your hands from their playing with the ring again.

“Take it from someone who’s had two very different ones; there is no wrong way to have a body.”

You finally look at him, and it’s not pity you find in his eyes, but understanding. Real, genuine understanding.

“People are going to think bullshit things,” he continues as you stare at him, his hand remaining over yours, a gentle smile on his lips, “They’re gonna take one look at you and think they’ve got you all figured out. But none of that matters. I know it’s hard to not think about it, but they don’t know a damn thing about you, what you’re really like. Those kinds of people aren’t worth knowing, anyway. It’s never how you look but what you do and how you behave that stays with people. I know it takes some time to unlearn society’s ‘rules’ and start really learning to love yourself but it can be done.” He squeezes your hand lightly. “And I wasn’t kidding, you’re incredibly intelligent, you’re kind, you’re funny, and that’s what I see when I look at you. I see the person that you are.”

You have to remind yourself to breathe. His smile widens a little more as you squeeze his hand in return, your lips lifting into a smile that almost matches his.

“Thank you, Steve,” you murmur, afraid if you speak any louder that your voice might crack with emotion.

“Don’t mention it,” he answers, the pad of his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I’ve been there.”

Clearing your throat, you feel real relief as you quietly confide, “I just wish I hadn’t worn something so tight and bright, you know.”

Steve shakes his head. “I’m glad you did, Hepburn. Otherwise I would never have found you behind those damn flowers and I wouldn’t be here now with my favourite person.”

You feel your cheeks flush as you arch an eyebrow. “I’m your favourite person, huh?”

“Yeah, you are.” You think you see the faintest hint of colour rise on his own cheeks as he releases your hand and sits back. “I look forward to talking to you every day. Even when you ramble on about the Netflix.”

You laugh as he smiles, knowing that gets you every damn time.

“Y’know, now that you mention it, last night I started a show─”

“Okay, all right.” Steve closes the pizza box and wipes his hands on his thighs, feigning a sigh of resignation. “Before you start and I can’t get a word in, I think this calls for sundaes.”

“Really?”

“Yep. Always gotta have dessert.” Getting to his feet, he turns to you, then pauses, and a corner of his mouth lifts higher than the other. 

“Oh, God, what? Is there sauce on my face?”

“No, you’re fine, Hepburn,” he laughs as your hands fly up to your face. “Just look like the damn queen of the night is all.”

Your eyebrows shoot up as your cheeks flush again. “Oh...” Clearing your throat, you smile as you tilt your head. “That how you talk to all the girls back in the day, huh?”

He laughs as you get to your feet, holding out his hand to you. “No, that one’s just for you.”

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged or removed in my future work!

Tagged: @fearandloathing-in-missouri, @persephone-divine, @jobean12-blog, @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan

[jesbakescookies]

Too Hot To Handle: Chapter Two

So I kinda wrote a different kind of fanfiction. It’s nothing as in depth as my other fics so I am going to post it here. ENJOY!!

                  ***Actor, Real Person Fanfiction, Walking Dead RPF***

Featuring: Jeffrey Dean Morgan X Original Female Character, Norman Reedus and others..

Rating: Mature

Chapter Two

Aria closed the restaurant but stayed to plan the new spring menu. Every season she rotated out specific meals for seasonally available produce and proteins. It was something she felt strongly about and one of the biggest draws to her dining room. 

Using the largest table, Aria spread out all her concept platting drawings as well as recipes and item descriptions. She even produced a few of the experimental dishes to taste as she worked. The restaurant’s lights were all dimmed and she turned the radio on low over the speakers. She was moving a few ideas from the maybe pile to the definite pile when a knock rattled the front door. Squinting, Aria could see someone in the large glass pane but not who. Pursing her lips, she weighed her options, the restaurant wasn't in a bad area of town but psychos lived in every zip code. 

Another knock came spurring her into action. Holding her cellphone just in case, Aria approached the door to finally see who was pounding. 

Jeffrey stood there with an apologetic expression and slightly embarrassed smile.

Smirking inwardly, Aria deadpanned, "Sorry we're closed."

Watching him pout obnoxiously and fold his hands in prayer had Aria laughing loudly and unlocking the door. "Okay what'd you forget a wallet or cellphone? Because if it's either, they’re long fucking gone."

Snorting, Jeffrey shook his head and replied, "My hat. Black with white logo?"

"Fuck if I know. Come with me." She answered, locking the door behind them and leading them to the office. Aria could feel him following her, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. She bit her lip to keep from blurting out something inappropriate about the amazing fucking scent coming off of him. A mix of expensive cologne, leather and smoke. The man looked like sex on a stick in his worn t-shirt and low riding jeans. 

"What're you doing here so late?" his voice rough and low behind her made Aria swallow thickly. 

"I'm the lost and found guard." She quipped, pulling out the box used as the catch all of forgotten items. Smirking at her with sparkling eyes Jeffrey drawled, "Don't guards usually wear uniforms?"

"It's under my clothes, like a super hero."

"Oh yeah?" He rasped, his hooded eyes trailing down her body and back to her face. "I'd uh... like to see that."

Snorting, Aria shook the box and replied, "I can't go showing just anybody."

"I am definitely not just anybody." He drawled, glancing at the box before turning his attention back to her. "Nope, no hat."

"Well, sorry to inform you. If anyone saw you wearing it and found it, it's probably on eBay with an authentic famous actor sweat certificate."

Bellowing with laughter, Jeffrey gave her a blinding grin. "I like you doll. You are a fucking riot."

Dropping the box and dusting her hands off on her hips, she replied, "you hungry?"

"I can always eat."

"Hollow leg?"

"Bottomless fucking pit." 

They wandered into the dining room where her table was still in the depth of planning. 

"What's all this?"

"I'm redesign the new spring menu." She replied pointing out each area of the table. "I use seasonal products so every few months I revamp things. I have my standards but I try to have a handful or two of seasonally designed dishes."

Jeffrey seemed enthralled as she showed off the plating sketches and the pictures of her sample dishes. She let him try the few meals and appetizers she had in the concept phase. 

"You're fucking amazing." He commented, shaking his head while chewing and looking at the sketch. "And I don't just mean the goddamn delicious circus in my mouth. Just the conception, the thought you put into everything... I'm fucking blown away."

Aria felt her cheeks turn rosy and laughed anxiously. "Umm... Thanks?"

"I mean it. I feel like a dick for not even knowing or thinking about what kind of work goes into this."

"Well to be honest, I probably go above and beyond. I'm not sure many others go this fucking crazy. I just..."

"Love it?"

"I fucking love it." She corrected, her cheeks hurting from the size of her grin. "As hard as it is. As much pain and stress it causes. I love it. I wouldn't do anything else."

Jeffrey smiled at her and bobbed his head, "that's the way it should be."

"Do you feel that way? About acting?"

"Most days yeah." He answered with a chuckle, "there's always times where you question yourself."

"Very true." She agreed, sipping the wine she'd left breathing. 

"I have a confession." His voice was softer and a little gruff as though unsure of how she would take his next words. 

Cocking an eyebrow she asked, "You hate the lamb huh? I'm not sure about it either."

"Jesus woman, the lamb is ri-goddam-diculous." He exclaimed, throwing a fed up hand in the air.  

"Okay, okay." She giggled, plopping down in one of the chairs. Jeffrey joined her and motioned for the wine bottle. After pouring himself some and sipping it, he confessed, "I didn't forget a hat."

Furrowing her brow she asked, "What'd you forget?"

"Nothing.. I..." he paused, scrubbing his face with an embarrassed smile.  "I had a feeling you'd be here late with just coming back from vacation and all..."

"Okay I'm officially pathetic."

Chuckling, he shook his head. "No you love you job."

Rolling her eyes, Aria motioned for him to continue, "Okay so you came to see me and not find an imaginary hat."

"Yes. I... look I don't really do this shit. At least not recently... and even then it was not frequent."

"Jeffrey?"

"Yes."

"Spit it out."

"I'd like to take you out some time.” The dark haired man explained, leaning towards her. “I'd say to dinner but I think I should take you somewhere non workplace like."

Aria’s eyebrows raised to her hairline and she felt her cheeks flush again. "Um."

"I mean if you're not available or whatever.... I asked our waitress and she said you weren't seeing anyone or at least she hadn't seen you dating anyone."

"Oh my god. Was it Cheryl? I'm canning her ass."

"No don't do that. I was persuasive." He drawled, flashing his dimples. The salt and pepper scruff that covered his handsome face only added to his appealing grin. Aria could feel herself melting under his gaze, his lip bitten as he suppressed a smug grin. 

"You do seem like the persuasive type."

"I've been known to get my way, yes." 

"Pfft." She snorted, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow. "I've been known to be pretty fucking stubborn."

"Seems about right. Most successful people are."

"Suck up."

"I'm trying to get a date here." He retorted, sipping his wine and winking at her. Aria bit her lip to contain the smile pulling at her lips. 

"Well... on this hypothetical non workplace like date, where would we go?"

"Jeesh put a fella on the spot."

"Said fella should come prepared for such inquiries."

"High standards. I like it." He commented, licking his lip before biting it in thought. "Alright. I got an idea. Do you like to ride?"

"Depends on what I'm riding?" She flirted, licking her own lip coyly.  

"Fuck doll." He grunted, his teeth flashing "you're making it real hard to be a gentleman."

"I bet I am." She joked, drinking another gulp of liquid courage. Aria wasn't sure how the conversation was actually happening but a famous and handsome as fuck actor was asking her on a date. She was hoping she wasn't actually having a stroke or some other kind of hallucination causing neurological event. 

"Stop, tease." Jeffrey rasped, shaking his head as if ashamed but grinning just the same. "Motorcycles."

"I’ve only been on one once and it was some crotch rocket which was uncomfortable and frightening."

"Well, I won't put you on my Honda. We'll ride my Harley. Much comfier and smoother ride."

"So we ride somewhere?"

"Damn. You need a play by play. What about the element of surprise, babydoll?"

"I'm kind of a planner." She replied, waving a hand over the table as if a game show host. Jeffrey smirked and answered, "We'll go somewhere fun. You'll love it. Wear jeans and comfy shoes."

Aria chewed her lip in thought and asked, "When?"

"When are you available? I know you work everyday, all day but you gotta have a day off."

Pulling out her phone, she flipped through her schedule and said, "Is a weekday okay?"

"Any day, anytime darlin'."

Smiling crookedly she asked, "You sure you don't do this all the time? Sound a little too smooth."

"Seriously."

"Okay. If you say so Don Juan." She remarked, dodging his playful smack to her shoulder. Laughing she offered, "How about Thursday? I have both my sous-chefs on. My produce comes in the morning so I can check it and leave after."

"It works for me, if it works for you."

Setting it up on her calendar quickly she asked "what time?"

"How about we say three and go from there?"

"Sounds good. That'll give me time to get everyone on the same page."

Jeffrey smiled and nodded happily. "Good. I'm glad I lied and came back."

"You didn't have to lie."

"It was that or, hey let me in, I wanna make an ass out of myself. I figured it was better to tell a little teeny tiny white lie."

"Well I'm usually against lying but I guess I'll forgive you this time seeing as it got me a date."

"Never again." He offered, giving her the boy scouts sign. "Scouts honor."

Rolling her eyes, Aria yawned suddenly and blinked hard. "Okay exhaustion has hit me and I don't think I'm getting anything else done tonight."

"I'm sorry I interrupted."

"I'm not." She replied, smiling at him. "Best brainstorming session yet."

Grinning at her, Jeffrey stood up and opened his arms offering a hug. Aria smirked and gave him one, forcing herself to not inhale deeply. He was so much taller than her, her head barely reached his shoulder. The length of his arms could circle her twice if he tried hard enough. 

"You're so damn tiny." He muttered, pulling back to flash her his dimples. 

"I think it's you, who's the giant."

"Nope. You're elfin like."

"Fuck off. Am not." She scoffed, walking with him to the front door. "I'm perfectly average."

"Doll, you are any-fucking-thing but average." He rasped, leaning forward to kiss her temple. The rough crackle of his words murmured into her ear, "Lookin' forward to taking you out beautiful."

"I'm looking forward to it too." She replied, holding her hand out. "Let me see your phone."

Placing her number in his phone, she sent herself a text and handed it back. "There's my number. No more wild goose chases."

Laughing gruffly, Jeffrey agreed bashfully, “No more lies. You will need to show me you're super hero outfit though."

"That's more of a third date event."

"Well fuck. I better start planning number two." He joked, stuffing his hands in his pockets. 

"Probably a good idea." She replied, with a flirty smile. "Goodnight Jeffrey."

"Goodnight Sweetheart."

Find Chapter Three here:

http://jesbakescookies.tumblr.com/post/161975558336/too-hot-to-handle-chapter-three

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged for updates. I'll try my best to remember!

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[goddamnmuses-a]

GAMES I NEED MADE.

Alright so I was talking to someone about some character customisation and it just reminded me of the two games I NEED MADE. I USE CAPS BECAUSE I SWEAR TO GOD IF THESE ARE NEVER MADE AND I DIE BEFORE PLAYING THEM.. I’LL HAUNT SOMEONE.

There’s 2 specific ones I’m going to share, both kind of similar in concept but you’ll see. 

The Harry Potter one and The Star Wars one.  The rest will be under the cut because looong post

Alright so first off Harry Potter.

The game starts with an owl flying down towards a house, it flies in through the window and drops a your Hogwarts acceptance letter down, from a first person pov you pick it up and read it, this is where you input your characters name. Fallout style you have it so all the most popular names are recorded so people can say your name orrr everyone just calls you by a nickname that you’re yet to receive and then your parents call you honey.  You can walk around your room but if you go to leave text comes up saying that you should probably get dressed so you go to the wardrobe/mirror and then character customisation. You make whatever your character looks like, whether they’re a boy or a girl and all that goodness, no clothing options now, just the generic casual clothes. There you also get to pick your history, whether your from a pureblood slytherin family or you’re from a muggle family or a half blood family or whatever, there would be a few options and also stuff like sexuality and all that good stuff.  Then you head downstairs, your parents are slightly generated based on what your character looks like, things like hair colour or skin colour can change, whatever. The biggest change to the start is based on the history you pick, if muggle then they’re like “What’s the letter?” and stuff and you get dialog options as to what to say, whilst if they know about magic then it’s clearer and stuff like that.  Whilst this is all going on, the game is registering which dialog options you pick and the choices you make, maybe there’s a few little house hold chores and stuff you do then it time skips and you go to Diagon Alley where you can roam around and get things from your list then also use what currency you have left to get some extra stuff, maybe customisation options like some better glasses or a hat or something, anything.  Then you go the hogwarts express, you meet a few characters, you get to talk to a bunch of them before anyone is sorted, they have it so it’s pretty obvious who’s going to be sorted into what house and you can pick to sit with any of them and then you go to Hogwarts and get sorted.  The sorting works by taking all the choices and dialog choices you’ve made as what you’re sorted into but also takes into consideration who you sat with, if this lines up, you get sorted, if this doesn’t it gives you the choice between what the game thinks you should be as well as who you sat with being who you think you should be and it acts like a hat stall and you get a dialogue option thats like “Not Gryffindor” or “Not Slytherin” or something and then you get the other one and boom your sorted.  Then you have a rpg where you can free roam around Hogwarts, learn new spells, heck throw in some multiplayer stuff like playing online with some friends and roaming around with them as well as play quidditch and gobstones and all sorts of things, you make friends, romance, all the good stuff.  What the actual story is, i don’t even care, i just want a Hogwarts rpg where i can actually make my own choices and it’s me.. and not a mobile game.. bloogy Hogwarts Mystery. 

and the Star Wars one..

This is different in that I kind of want this one to be very like Destiny which i know a lot of people are hating on that kind of game but just hear me out, you buy it once, that’s it, you own it, any updates after that are free. No loot boxes, no paid currency pay to win stuff. I’ll also go into this a little more near the end but.. The setting is the High Republic, the game opens and you see Youngling, maybe Yoda to really set when this is. A lot like my Harry Potter one, you create your character, no need for backstory, you were brought to the temple as a baby but your training has only really just began, you’re not good with the force but with a vibroblade you’re not bad.  So you go to training with your vibroblade you get tutorial of the combat and stuff. Now I’ve not had a chance to read too much into the High Republic but from what I’m aware is it’s basically the Republic is pretty new and is a lot smaller, there’s a lot more wild space and outlaws and the Jedi work as the sheriffs.  So then a group attack the temple, very Skyrim feeling, you find out that the leader of the attack is a Fallen Jedi. Not a Sith because the Sith aren’t supposed to be around but you can now pick whether you go with the Jedi Master or.. listening to the points the Fallen Jedi made, you can join him.  Then you’re off and into the game where it’s split in two, light side and dark side and you can play online with your friends, do story missions to unlock new locations and planets, eventually get a lightsaber instead of the vibroblade, bring back that David Tennant droid for the light side.  You can do pvp, it’s mostly pve, think Destiny but Jedi’s also it makes sense that there are lots of Jedi because this is the golden age of them. Also potentially if you really want to go all out, make it so that in the character creation you can also pick to not be force sensitive and that opens you up to be a smuggler or bounty hunter. The loot in the game being different clothes lightsaber parts, you can do hard missions to get kyber crystals and stuff and all the updates to the game would be free until they create a sequel which if you have the save data on what you’re playing the first game on, reads it, or do what Inquisition did and have a website where you can generate the choices you made or something and have an event happen that makes your character loose their things. There are a lot of ways to get around it, but when the sequel comes out, there’s one last mission released on the first game that leads to the sequel and then thats it, they keep servers for the game going for a while but if you want more story or updates, you get the sequel. If it’s done correctly, it should do well. 

Feel free to ask me anything about these random ideas i have.. also..

Bonus 3rd game: Witcher but you play a custom witcher from a different witcher school. 

[game-refraction]

Game Review: Splatoon 2 (Switch)

I struggled to enjoy the first Splatoon on the Nintendo WiiU, and it’s mostly for the way the game encouraged motion controls by making it quite front and center and limited to what other control methods were available for the title. You could turn the gyro motion controls off and use the Gamepad’s analog sticks, but I was never a fan of how large and awkward the peripheral actually was. I found it rather puzzling that the original Pro Controller could only be used in a split-screen mode, and not in any of the other modes available. It was a franchise that I assumed I was just not destined to enjoy. That is until Splatoon 2 came along.

Splatoon 2 is available exclusively for the Nintendo Switch, and that is mostly because the WiiU has been put to pasture and Nintendo is keen on keeping its shiny new toy available for those who have the latest and newest Nintendo console. The pick-up and play nature of the Nintendo Switch works well with Splatoon 2 via its single player or local network multiplayer battles, and should you be able to track down some Wifi, then you are all set for the real meat of the title; Online Multiplayer. Of course, you can always just put the Switch into its dock and enjoy the game on whatever sized TV you have.

Splatoon was Nintendo’s effort towards joining in on the popularity of the online shooter. Call of Duty, Halo, and a few other brand names that almost single handily sell consoles were titles that either were exempt from appearing on a Nintendo console or just lacked the popularity of being something big on the platform, as Call of Duty: Black Ops 2 did make an appearance on the WiiU but didn’t pull in near the online numbers of its competition. It wasn’t even close.

Rather than create something visually similar to what was dominating the market, Nintendo chose to do what it did best, create something that fit the Nintendo brand. In the place of run and gun gruff soldiers, Nintendo bet the bank on cartoony squid children that were outfitted with paintball rifles and set out to splatter that paint everywhere they could. Sure, you could splatter your competition into paint oblivion, but violence was – is – not the point of Splatoon in the slightest.

Splatoon’s main characters; the Inklings, are comprised of either the Squid Boy or the Squid Girl. You can change their squid-hair and a few other squid-features to make them their own, but they’ll each transform into a visually similar Squid-form to dive into the paint or through thin grating and fences. By diving into the paint you will refill the ink that you’ll use in the variety of weaponry at your disposal. Each weapon is set to shoot out ink in very different ways, as well as how effective it is with taking down your Inkling opposition.

There are several different weapon types that work well here with a few that I just wasn’t a fan of. The standard blasters and dual pistols are incredibly fun, and even the umbrella gun has its charm. The big paint rollers, the charger, and the mini-gun are weapons that I really didn’t enjoy and tried my best to not use them unless they were forced upon me at times, which they are. During the single player campaign you can upgrade your weapons and make them far more effective, but sadly this is not translated to the multiplayer at all. While this is mostly Nintendo wanting to make the playing field somewhat more level, it lessens the appeal of the progression, at least to me.

There are some items that do add in a perk or two to make you slightly better in moving, painting and earning your special moves a bit faster, and that is in the form of clothing items. Each item has a few slots that upon leveling them up will unlock random stats that make you faster, hold more ink, or improve sub-weapon proficiency. Clothing is offered for shoes, shirts, and a head item; glasses, hats or face masks. Stores will refresh their stock at midnight and you can also buy items from the mobile Nintendo Switch App via Splatnet which refreshes more frequently.

Multiplayer is separated into three tiers of competitive play; Regular, Ranked, and League Battles. Regular matches consist solely of one mode; Turf War. This mode has you playing four on four in a timed race to cover more of the map than your opponents can. Ranked Matches offer a bit more variety in Splatzone, Tower Control, and Rainmaker, with victories increasing a grading scale rank from C- to A+ and even further to S rank. Splatzone is your basic zone control where Tower Control and Rainmaker both work like variations of reverse capture the flag where you are meant to take something into the enemy base. League Battles require your rank to be at least B- and these 2-hour battles let players show off some serious skills without the fear of ranking down.

The majority of my time was spent in Turf War as it really is my favorite of the modes. The back and forth nature of capturing as much real estate as you can is rather engaging when you claim a few sections of your own, only to have them taken back and the chase begins anew. Maps and modes rotate every two hours, but Regular Matches will always be comprised of Turf War as this is the only mode available to those under level 10. Upon the rotation, you will be made aware of which maps are available to each mode via the hosts: Pearl and Marina, who fill in for the Squid Sisters from the previous game.

Apart from the four on four PvP modes that have carried over from the first title, Splatoon 2 brings with it a new PvE mode called, Salmon Run. This four player mode sees you and three other players team up to take down waves of Salmon hordes and a selection of random bosses that look to wreck your whole team. Each boss will drop Power eggs upon defeating them. These eggs need to be returned to your home base to count towards your quota. There are three waves that you’ll need to survive to claim the rewards for victory. As you level up your rank within Salmon Run, you can unlock new gear and more coins to put towards the newest and freshest items in the shops.

Each time you jump into Salmon Run, you will be fitted with certain weapons and forced to use them during that single round. I’m not a fan of how this is implemented as there are weapons that I really don’t enjoy using in the game. The bosses you’ll encounter each have different weaknesses that must be exploited to take them down. The Stinger sits atop a collection of pots and each pot must be taken out to bring him down to your level. The Steelhead forms a giant ink bomb on its forehead and it must be destroyed before it launches it at your team. There are eight bosses in total and each round will see many of them make an appearance. Maps will also take place during the day, night and during a nasty fog that limits visibility to a large degree. The most bizarre thing about Salmon Run is that it is only available for online play at certain times in the day, but fully available at all times should you and three other friends just want to play together.

Matchmaking is by far the biggest misstep in the game and is so painfully bad that I am surprised that the game released like it is. Say you want to join a match with a friend to then play online with a bunch of random people to fill up the eight player lobby. One person will need to join the lobby and then the other player (and this is assuming it’s just one other player joining..) will click on the friend’s tab and then join the match. If, however; there is no room, that initial player then needs to play a whole round to go back into the lobby and hopefully a space has freed up. Now, imagine if there were two or three other friends that wanted to play too. Sure, you can make your own lobby to play by yourselves, but if you are wanting a full four on four match, you’ll need to do the above method, or have 7 other friends.

To make matters worse, in order to back out of a lobby you must go through a whole round to exit the lobby at the end of said round, you cannot exit out while waiting for a game to start and leaving in the middle of a match can lead to a soft ban. This is one example of how Nintendo just doesn’t understand or pay attention to what works elsewhere. The voice chat options are also a mess as it requires making a special room in the Lounge in-game and then downloading the Switch App on your phone. You then need to have your friends join that special room and then plug your headset into your phone and invite everyone from there. It’s a convoluted mess and should you use other aspects of your phone like accepting a call, checking e-mail or looking up a Splatoon 2 help guide, it will shut off the voice chat and you’ll need to start it up all over again. If you want further proof that Nintendo has no idea how voice chat should work, Google the instructions for using their squid-shaped adapter with their Splatoon 2 headset.

Splatoon 2, much like its predecessor, has a single player campaign that will see you as the chosen squid, meant to save the day. Turns out that the Great Zapfish has gone missing, and Callie, one of the Squid Sisters, has disappeared as well. While the story itself is fairly bare, the narrative points that do pop up from time to time are quite fun, ending in a final confrontation that is one of the best boss battles I’ve ever played. The campaign levels are tiny little hub worlds that require a bit of exploring to discover the stages themselves. Many of these are actually more fun to play around in that some of the stages themselves, especially the final zone.

The controls for Splatoon 2 are worlds better than what Nintendo gave us the first time around and this is mostly due to the fact of having more control methods opened up via the Joycons and most importantly, the Pro Controller. I’m still not a fan of the motion controls the game starts with by default and upon turning them off, the game was far more enjoyable. I do however wish that you could press a button to turn them back on for some small tiny adjustments while aiming. Based on the current setup, the top L button is not used and it’s one of the few buttons that doesn’t seem to have any commands attached to it. If Nintendo was to patch in support to swap from motion control to standard controls at the touch of a button, this could have a huge impact to finesse some of your aiming.

Splatoon 2 shows that you can’t spell frustration without f-u-n and several of the levels can lead to some pretty cheap deaths. While the level design for the better part of the game is quite good, and some levels border on great to fantastic, there are a few gameplay mechanics that really got on my nerves. Some of the platforming can be frustrating due to the responsiveness of your jumps, or how easy it is to accidentally slide off the map. The camera can be a bit of an annoyance, even if it is better than most games, it still requires you to manually move it around consistently.

My biggest issue with the game is the requirement to use certain weapons on certain stages. As I wasn’t a fan of a few key guns, the requirement to have to use them really made me dislike many of the stages I really wanted to enjoy. I could never aim the charger rifle well enough or fast enough, the chaingun felt too slow, and I just couldn’t get to like the large paint roller. The levels that included the paint bucket, brush, single and dual pistols were really enjoyable and just downright fun. It was rare in any of those stages that a jump wouldn’t connect or that I was annoyed by something in the game, and this is due to the levels being built around how the guns worked themselves. There are stages where it’s your choice what to use, and if you think I picked anything but the dual pistols, you’re dead wrong.

Splatoon 2 is a gorgeous title that fully takes advantage of the Nintendo Switch. It’s not leagues better than the WiiU original, but there are far better animations found all over the game. The bright colors and overall designs are unlike really anything else on the market, let alone for a 3rd person online shooter. The menus are just as bright and colorful and frankly, the game is just visually solid all around. The music is really catchy and I dare you to not hum it during a match after immediately hearing it. The voices in the game are your standard Nintendo gibberish, and that’s unfortunate as many of these characters could really benefit from full on voice acting. which is a strong case for many games in Nintendo’s library.

While Splatoon 2 doesn’t feel like a full sequel to its predecessor, it’s been refined to the point where Nintendo has a steady vision for what they want from this franchise. It still suffers from many of the issues the first game had with its matchmaking, and the voice chat system that Nintendo has implemented for the Switch is frankly, bonkers. The game has some incredible ideas that for the most part work extremely well, and apart from certain weapons being forced on you during the campaign, it is still a blast to play through. There is an unfortunate difficulty spike with certain levels that can be a nightmare to complete without raging out and throwing your controller or yelling at the screen after a dozen cheap deaths, which can result in your whole level progress restarting.

While the frustration is minimal in the grand scheme of things, Splatoon 2 is a very engaging and fun game that has a remarkable charm to it. The inklings are well animated, and the vast array of clothing can make for some very interesting combinations. The addition of Salmon Run is what really sold this new version for me as it can be a truly fun experience even if you are failing miserably at it. I’ve had matches where my whole team would get wrecked within a minute of starting up a round and we’ll shrug it off and continue on, ready to take on the next wave.

Splatoon 2 was played and reviewed with a purchased retail copy for the Nintendo Switch. All screenshots were captured on the device and formatted to fit this review.

  Game Review: Splatoon 2 (Switch) was originally published on Game-Refraction