#and I know reviews / people might slate it

[a-tad-bit-obsessed]

I know this isn’t really a thing tumblr cares about, but that Outnumbered special was my version of what the Gavin and Stacey one was for other people in the UK.

Like yes people will complain due to one of the main themes of it, but to me who’s having something similar happen in my life, it felt familiar, felt somehow almost, I don’t know how to explain it, not comforting but you know. (Also, outnumbered has never shied away from serious topics like this, not even in specials, it toes the line between sometimes ridiculously exaggerated and other times so true to life).

And the rest of it felt perfect, it made me laugh, it had a handful of references to old eps but not too much, the characters felt so right (especially Karen as a queer woman who got arrested at a just stop oil protest, calls her co-workers idiots, hates that her name is Karen and does a podcast) and like little stuff like Jake’s kid being obsessed with being an animal felt like things that happens in my family that it all just feels right for it.

Sometimes I know that ep might be a tough watch for me, I know I’m glad I went in knowing what the story thread was and not caught off guard, but I needed a show like this doing something like this, I think it’s done me good

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 22

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: this week isn't going great but we're hoping.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You peer up at the silhouettes of the vultures perched on the peaks of the castle. Your return is met by a clear sky as the snows recede to crawling clouds across the slate expanse. The king lets you down outside the stables before he walks the horse within. 

You stand just inside the doorway, outside the gathering winds that whistle through the passes and hidden crevices of the mountain. You hug yourself, shivering endlessly as you struggle to chase the cold from your bones. Once the chill creeps in it is near impossible to expel. 

King Geralt’s rocky voice carries through the stable as he speaks to Roach. You glance over as another mount huffs and gives an impatient whinny. You slip further inside, letting the door shut completely. You trod along the edge of the aisle and turn down the next row. There you find Daisy’s speckled nose. 

“Oh, girl,” you greet her softly and untangle a mat in her mane, “there you are.” 

She sniffs you as you pet her neck. She nuzzles the collar of your cloak and you feel along the thick tendons beneath her fine hair. There is comfort in her familiarity. You long to stay there with the horses. You belong more than you do in the king’s chambers. 

“Treasure...” he calls for you as you still and keep your hand on Daisy. He speaks your name next as you hear his footfalls march down the next row, harrying faster with each step. The door swings in then clatters back against the frame as Daisy knicks. “Little maid?” 

You pat Daisy’s nose and retreat. You shuffle to the front and turn to follow the wall, “your highness.” 

King Geralt backs out of the doorway and it snaps shut with the wind. His eyes blaze a moment before they dim. He pushes his gloves over his hair, stray strands puffing out around his hairline. 

“There you are. I worried you might have blown away,” he steadies his timbre. Was he truly afraid? Did he think you would try to escape? 

“Apologies, I was checking on Sir Bryce’s mount,” you explain. 

“Bryce, yes,” he reaches for you and takes your hand, “he has kept you safe, has he?” 

You nod, “he is a good man.” 

The king’s cheek ticks, “he is my man. He only does as I bid. I commanded him to see after you. Me.” 

You take a breath and bow your head, “certainly, I know so, your highness. Thank you for your protection.” 

“Do you see, so long as you are close to me, you won’t need to fear,” he girds. 

For so long as he keeps you close, you will only be afraid. You will fear him, you will fear his courtiers and his enemies, and you will fear the day he no long wants you near. Every flame must burn itself out and every flame will singe those who get too close. 

“Yes, your highness,” you answer and look up at him again, his eyes glimmering, “Geralt.” 

Your voice shakes, with more than just the cold, and you let the shiver spread through you. The king brings a hand to your chin and brushes his leather glove against your cheek. He draws you into him, holding you again his chest. 

“I forget, my summer treasure, the cold is new to you,” he embraces you and bends to speak against your hat, “we must warm you before an ague might creep in.” 

He lets you free reluctantly and grips your hand instead. He takes you out of the stable and towards the rear entrance of the castle. You slip in the snow, keeping you footing only for his hold on you. He stops and turns to you, tugging you near as your feet kick through the powder. 

He sweeps you up in his arms without effort. He is strong and holds you across his body, cradling you as he stalks to the door. You wriggle as angles to hook two fingers through the loop and hauls open the door around you. He sidles inside and turns you, bidding you to pull the door shut. You obey and close you both in dim unlit corridor. 

“Thank you, your highness,” you pat his chest lightly, “will you let me down?” 

“I don’t mind. You are hardly a burden,” he grits. “Having you in my arms has me feeling much lighter.” 

You drag your hand to his shoulder and squeeze through the layers, “but what if someone should happen upon us?” 

He’s quiet. He keeps you aloft, shifting one way then the other, peering up and down the darkness. 

“And what if they did?” He asks. 

It’s your turn to be silent. 

“I am king, what should they do, treasure?” 

You fidget and pull your hand away from him. 

“You speak true, your highness. You are the king, you may do as you will.” 

He sighs and his chest heaves against you. He clicks his tongue and slowly shifts you down until your feet meet the floor. As he straightens, he drags his touch over your figure, his hand delving between cloak and dress. 

“You fret very much,” he rebukes, “though I suppose caution is wise.” 

“I think of you, of your reputation as king,” you assure him, “I wouldn’t want to tarnish your name. I serve the crown and I wouldn’t bring shame to it.” 

“Shame?” He snarls, “never.” 

He hooks his arm around you and spreads his hand across the back of your head. He pulls you into him and kisses your forehead as you tremble. He holds you like that for a moment before he parts.  

“We must warm you,” he proclaims, “this way, treasure.” 

He nudges you along with him. You follow his footsteps down the corridor, towards the lantern light that light the main ways. He takes you through the castle without pause, not tarrying for soldier or lord alike, though few appear in the halls. It is much too cold to leave their hearths. 

You climb upward and he leads you to the winding tower. He let you up ahead of him as he holds the door. He touches your lower back through the cloak. 

“You will wait for me. I have some matters to attend to,” he says, “it shouldn’t be very long at all.” He trails up your back, sending a flash of heat through you, “sit close to the hearth.” 

“Yes, your highness,” you dip your head and press on, ascending as you lift the hem of your cloak and dress over your feet. 

The lower door shuts only as the hinges at the top whine at your entrance. You close the chamber door and look around the space. The hearth burns still, fed by servants at intervals, and the lantern on the table shines through the steel slats that shade its flame. 

You remove the cloak and hang it from an iron hook. You sit in the chair and strip off the hat, mittens, boots, and stockings; You leave the damp layers nears the hearth and lower yourself before the flames. You close your eyes and hang your head forward. You could sleep then and there. 

Your peace doesn’t last very long. You raise your head as you hear someone on the stairs. You stand, readying yourself to face the king, but instead are met by a pair of pinch-faced maids. The resident servants carry steaming vessels and cross to the tub stood to the other side of the bed. They pour the water into the thick wooden walls and retreat without a word. 

You spin and fold your arms. You’re taken back to the day it was you and Merinda filling a tub. Before everything became so muddled. A simple existence where you knew exactly what was expected of you.  

Your heart rents when you think of your estranged companion. Merinda would know what to say. She could ease your fears, she always knew how. Ever since she came Debray, she always kept you from worry. Without her, you are lost. You only wish you’d realised then all she was to you. You were more than just maids, you were friends. 

You stare at the cinders beneath the licking flames. You don’t look again as the servants come upon their second trip, and a third, and a fourth... anon and anon until the chamber thickens with the steam of the tub. You daren’t remind yourself again how much you’ve lost; how much you didn’t even know you had to lose. 

You’re left in silence, facing the fire. The winds batter the tower from outside and the shuttered windows rattle. Heavy steps come up the winding staircase and you know without looking who enters behind you. The king’s sigh confirms your assumption. 

“The water will ease the cold,” he says as the door shuts, “and the aches of the road.” 

You shift so your stand sideways to him, “thank you, your highness.” You swallow and cough out the lump in your throat, “Geralt.” 

He hums at your correction. You stand still as he moves around the chamber. He unbuckles his cloak and hangs it next to the one he gifted you. Then he nears to remove his gloves and boots, lining them up before the burning fireplace. As he stands straight, he faces you. 

“You should bathe. The water is hot,” he says. 

“Thank you,” you nod and reach behind your nape to untie the single lace of your dress, “so I should.” 

You whisk away from him, pacing towards the tub as your hands clash clumsily. The thought of undressing before him makes you numb. You stop as the steam plume around you and drop your arms. You can’t get a grasp on the fabric. You grip the edge of the tub and stare into the water. 

“You needn’t be meek,” you hear the subtle creak of his leather coat as he removes it. You peek over as he drapes it over a wooden chair. “The cold is dangerous for summerborn, you shouldn’t let it get too deep.” 

You can't. You're trying to find the will. You think of all you've done. Faced the Duke and his clan, travelled to the capital, the  to hinterlands, you've done it all without doubt, but the layers of fabric are too heavy a task. 

You flinch as you feel a tickle along your side. You push away from the tub, dropping your arms as he king bends behind you. He raises the hem of your dress and the air is crushed from your chest. You serve, you obey, and the king’s will is plain. 

You lift your arms as he strips the dress up your body and over your head. He swipes it towards the bed as your shift rumples at your hips, the unhemmed edge along your thighs. He steps even closer as he curls his fingers around the undyed linen.  

You keep your arms up as he guides the fabric higher. He keeps his thumbs hooked in the cloth and turns his hands so his fingertips brush your shape. Bumps bristle over your skin and have you even colder than before. You quake as the linen blinds you for just a moment and in another, you're naked.  

Your shift flaps through the air to land on your dress. The king's breath wisps out through his tight chest and he frames your hips with his large hands. He's shaking too. 

He draws away slowly and you feel a rustle against you. You stand frozen as he undresses at your back. Don’t look, you can’t look. If you look, it’s real. If you look, it’s over. His clothes pile at his feet as he shifts you gasp as he presses his hot body flush to yours. 

He brings his hands up your arms and along your neck. He frames your head and kisses your crown, his thumb toying with a shank of your uneven hair. You bite down as he urges you closer to the tub.  

You move without without resistance, one leg over the edge then the other. He follows, thick legs plunging into the roiling water. He keeps you snug to him as he lowers himself, easing you atop him. You rest over him and his need makes itself known between you. You stare at the stone wall and steel yourself, the water adding fire to the ice inside of you. 

He exhales as he relaxes under you, letting his hands crawl over your stomach and hips, feeling every inch of you. From the crook of your neck to your thighs. He smears water over your face as he touches your cheeks and traces your jaw. He quivers as snarling breaths escape him. 

“This is how it should be, treasure,” he wraps his hands around yours and folds your arms, resting his clutches over your chest. “I suppose you’ve never heard the tale of Cerill and Wynifred.” 

You stare at his knuckles, the hair that trims his rough flesh, the grip in his paled joints. 

“Never,” you assure him. 

“Cerill was a warrior. A loyal soldier. A man who served his king with all his being. He was knighted on a battlefield. Once a stablehand, then a hero. The king, Fazon, he had a wife, Wynifred. A queen who was kind and sweet. They were ill-matched for every misfortune he aimed at her, rather than its true crux,” he regales you as his voice fills the chamber, wafting with the steam. 

“But she was obedient. She lived by her vows. For years. But she was mortal as any woman might be and the cruelty of her husband weakened her. And Lord Cerill was valiant and strong and gentle. Everything her husband was not. How could she restrain herself from the comfort he offered? Neither meant to betray their king but some things, some forces, are strong than those writ by men and their quills.” 

You listen, certain of the purpose of his telling. You are not legendary lovers, you are not lost to wives’ tales and children’s stories, you are here, you are alive, and there is nothing fantastical about any of it. He might believe whatever but you haven’t that luxury. He will not hear the doubts, you will feel them. 

“And what happened to them?” You ask with foreboding. There are stories similar in the summerlands; of pages and their masters’ wives or daughters. 

“Yes, well, we know of them because they were found out, I suppose. They knew they would not evade the king’s vengeance but they refused to bend to it. So, they fled into the forest and found a sacred root. That plant is meant for the sickly, to ease their end. They consumed it together and died in each others’ arms. Just as they were found.” 

You lay in silence. The forbidden love hardly tweaks at your heart, but more, you tremble to think of the king’s wrath. Of how a king might wrought his temper upon any and all. Even a wife, even a knight. It is no romantic tragedy; it is a lesson in the power of men. 

“Apologies it is not a happier conclusion,” he says. 

“The stories are never very happy,” you murmur. Or the truth. 

He hums as squeezes your hands. The water is still as you lie in his mercy. This cannot last. Just as in his story, there will only be pain. 

As if to confirm your unspoken dread, a knock sounds on the door. The king jerks, the water sloshing around him as he sits you up with him. 

“Geralt, King of Rivia and the Hinterlands,” the growl cuts through meanly, “come rule your people!” 

[betweenstorms]

Hi hello, hope you're having a good day Stormy! Your writing is always so good sjdjsjd always makes my day when I have the chance to read em! Not sure if you take requests, so if you don't, you can always ignore this! But I have a pretty interesting prompt that might pique your interest 👀

We all know Simon doesn't show emotions easily, usually the people very close to him will spot out the minute details that give away how he's feeling. Small twitch of the lips, tense of shoulders, that kind of thing. But how about reader who is slightly different, in that they also don't show emotion that well, but it's because they forget to? Sounds confusing I know, but for me I forget my mouth exists and constantly forget to smile at people when greeting them. So for reader, the only way others know how they're feeling is with the tone of their voice.

Hope that isn't too confusing to understand! It's a very weird thing I have, and have not encountered anyone else who share this lmao

Anywayyy have a great rest of your day, and remember to hydrate and eat something! 🖤

- Biscuits 🌺

Hi Biscuits! 🌺 First of all, thank you so much for your kind words! I’m so sorry it took me this long to reply, but I’m excited to let you know that my interpretation of your idea is finally here! I hope you’ll enjoy it as much as I enjoyed exploring such a unique and fascinating prompt. I hope you’re having a wonderful day, and don’t forget to hydrate and eat something too! Thank you again for trusting me with your idea. 🖤

You didn’t need to look up to know the weather outside was a dreary shade of grey.

Strangely, it was always just grey here. Overcast skies that seemed to stretch endlessly over the joint military base somewhere in Germany, as though nature itself had resigned to a dull monotony. Not that it bothered you. Weather, much like people, had a way of projecting its moods that you’d long stopped trying to interpret. Clouds could loom ominously, sunlight could break free in radiant streaks, but it all felt the same to you.

Emotions were like that too.

Amorphous, indistinct, slipping through your grasp when you tried to name them. For as long as you could remember, you’d lacked the innate ability most people seemed to have, the quick flick of recognition when faced with a scowl, a smile, or a furrowed brow. You saw the movements of mouths and brows but couldn’t place what they were supposed to mean.

To you, the dance of expressions was no more than a series of movements, the subtle lift of lips or tilt of a head stripped of the weight they were meant to carry. And so, your own face reflected the only truth you understood. Your own face usually mirrored the neutrality of the weather, a blank slate that rarely shifted unless you consciously willed it to.

Price and Gaz were out on a recon mission, leaving Soap, Ghost and you on the foreign base. With no immediate orders other than to wait for their return, the three of you had the rare luxury of downtime. However, despite this, none of you strayed from your usual discipline. The day began at dawn, as always, with the shooting range, gym sessions, or reviewing intel as needed. The quiet efficiency of your routines spoke volumes about the kind of people you all were, professionals through and through. There were no shortcuts at this level, no slacking off. You were the best of the best after all.

Each of you carried that mantle in your own way.

Soap’s energy crackled like a live wire, his easy laughter and constant chatter an antidote to the grim seriousness of your world. Ghost, by contrast, was the anchor—silent, steadfast, a figure carved from stone. And you? You found yourself somewhere between them, detached yet watchful, a quiet observer tethered by a relentless need to prove yourself.

You liked working with Ghost in a way that was difficult to articulate, even to yourself. There was no camaraderie in the traditional sense, no banter or easy companionship, but strangely, there was something deeper, something unspoken.

Your lieutenant moved through the world with the same deliberate calm that you valued in yourself, his every action sharpened by precision and purpose. You respected him for that, his unrelenting dedication, the quiet strength he carried like a shield, and the way his presence seemed to command gravity itself, pulling the air taut whenever he entered a room. And somehow, Ghost felt like a reflection, as though the world had cut both of you from the same cloth. He, too, was a figure cloaked in neutrality, his mask hiding not just his face but the emotions that might lie beneath.

Even with the lull in operations, you didn’t take the task force’s trust for granted. You had fought hard to earn your place here, shedding blood and sweat to prove yourself to Price and the rest of the team. The task force was a strange paradox—these were people you trusted implicitly with your life, but you knew almost nothing about them on a personal level. That was just how things worked. Bonds forged in war zones didn’t require knowledge of favorite foods or childhood dreams. Still, you couldn’t deny a small, nagging curiosity about the men you worked with—especially Soap and Ghost.

Both were enigmas in their own ways.

Soap, all charm and humor, seemed to wear his heart on his sleeve, yet you suspected there was more to him beneath the surface. Ghost, on the other hand, was a locked vault, his emotions buried under layers of stoicism and a mask that seemed to shield more than his face. 

You had been with the task force for four months now.

It had been an honor to receive Price’s invitation, and though you felt pride in your accomplishments, showing it outwardly had always been a challenge. Ever since childhood, you’d struggled with recognizing and expressing emotions.

Your family had always been understanding, brushing it off as an eccentric quirk, and you’d never sought a formal diagnosis. It wasn’t that you didn’t feel, far from it. You just didn’t show it in the usual ways. Smiling, frowning, or even appearing annoyed often felt like trying to mimic a foreign language without understanding the grammar.

As a child, you were always the odd one, the kid who stared too long, too intently, when other children laughed and cried. Your parents, to their credit, were patient. Your mother, warm and pragmatic, would gently remind you to smile when greeting your grandmother or reassure you when a relative’s frown went unnoticed. “They’re not cross, love,” she’d say, her hands light on your shoulders. “Just thinking. You’re fine.”

But the world wasn’t as kind as your family.

As you grew, the peculiarities of your face invited suspicion, sometimes ridicule. “Why don’t you ever smile?” teachers would ask, their tone suggesting you were withholding something from them, as though joy was a currency you refused to spend. Friends, when you had them, would mistake your silence for coldness, your neutrality for indifference. By the time you reached your teens, you’d grown used to the questions and assumptions, building an armor of pragmatism around yourself. What was the point in trying to explain something you didn’t fully understand?

Somehow, your body simply forgot the script.

You forgot to move your lips when greeting a loved one, forgot to furrow your brows when confusion took hold, forgot to cry when sadness settled heavy in your chest. It wasn’t that you didn’t feel. Feelings bloomed and churned within you like storms on a distant horizon, but they never found their way to the surface. You were a house with locked shutters, and though the light was on inside, it rarely spilled out to illuminate the exterior.

Oddly enough, this trait had become an asset in your line of work.

Pragmatic, objective, and unshaken by emotion, you excelled in high-pressure environments. It was this armor that had served you so well in the military and later in the SAS. Neutrality was an asset here—a foundation upon which precision, discipline, and logic could thrive. Emotions muddied decisions, and in your line of work, clarity was king. When the invitation to join Task Force 141 had come, you’d accepted with quiet pride, though you’d made no effort to show it. Your calm, measured responses made you reliable and efficient, qualities that had undoubtedly caught Price’s attention.

But outside of missions, it created a distance between you and the rest of the team. Building camaraderie required a kind of emotional fluency you didn’t naturally possess, and though you didn’t dwell on it much, it sometimes left you feeling a little isolated.

Four months in, you’d cemented your place among the team.

They trusted you on the battlefield, and that was enough. Personal bonds were optional here, weren’t they? You’d told yourself that many times, but the truth was harder to swallow, trust in war didn’t translate to understanding in peace. Soap’s boisterous banter, Gaz’s easy charm, and Ghost’s impassive stares all existed in a language you couldn’t quite speak.

This morning, however, was different.

Breakfast was normally a solitary affair, a brief respite from the day’s structured chaos. But today, Soap and Ghost had joined you in the mess hall, their presence sat heavy at your periphery. You sat across from them, meticulously working through your meal while Soap tapped his fingers on the table in a rhythm that suggested trouble. Neither of them was eating, and their idle presence felt vaguely unsettling.

It didn’t take long for your suspicion to be confirmed.

“Y’know,” Soap began, his voice lilting with mischief. “Been meanin’ to ask you somethin’, lass. How’s it possible to sit there, day in, day out, with a face that doesn't move? Like a bloody mannequin, you are.”

You raised a brow, a slight, subtle motion that could have meant anything, but didn’t stop eating. Soap took this as an invitation to continue.

“You don’t smile,” he declared, as though it were a groundbreaking revelation. “Or frown. Or even twitch your face half the time. How d’you do that, eh? Are you secretly a robot?”

“I’m not a robot,” you replied, your tone flat but perfectly even.

He leaned back, shaking his head with mock disbelief. “Could’ve fooled me. You’re like a statue, don’t even look annoyed when I’m talkin’ shite at you. Bet you couldn’t make a face to save your life.”

You paused, setting down your fork with deliberate precision.

“I can make faces,” you said coolly.

“Aye, then let’s have a wee go at it. Give us a smile, eh?” Soap’s lopsided grin widened, and he glanced at Ghost, who remained silent but was now clearly paying attention, his hazel eyes flicking toward you. You blinked at them, debating whether it was worth the effort to argue.

Instead, you attempted to comply.

The corners of your mouth lifted in what might have passed for a smile if not for the stiffness in the gesture. It felt awkward, like wearing someone else’s skin.

Soap slapped the table, his laugh booming across the hall. “Creepin’ Jesus, that’s tragic! Like watchin’ a bairn try to wink for the first time.”

“Better than watchin’ you try to think,” Ghost deadpanned, not missing a beat.

Undeterred, Soap straightened up. “All right, fine. Forget smilin’. Show us angry.”

You weren’t bothered by Soap’s teasing, not at all.

Sarcasm and banter weren’t your battlefield, and you didn’t need to win these small wars of wit. If anything, you found his energy oddly endearing, a welcome distraction in the quiet monotony of downtime. So you furrowed your brow and narrowed your eyes slightly, aiming for something approximating irritation. Soap burst into another peal of laughter, throwing his head back and letting it roll out uninhibited.

“Honestly, you’re hopeless,” he howled, tears of laughter glistening in his eyes.

Ghost sighed, setting his tablet down with deliberate care.

“Enough, Johnny.”

Soap held up his hands in mock surrender, his grin lingering like a spark refusing to fade, but your attention had already wandered, your gaze tracing their movements like studying a map of familiar terrain. Soap’s restless energy hummed, his gestures loose and unrestrained, a stark contrast to Ghost’s deliberate stillness, every shift of his body a calculation.

And then his hazel eyes met yours—sharp, unflinching, and so steady it rooted you in place. There was no hostility, no question, only a quiet intensity that made your pulse stutter, a strange, warm stirring low in your stomach that you didn’t dare acknowledge. His gaze held you captive for a beat too long, the air around you heavy, before he turned away, leaving behind a weight you didn’t fully understand but couldn’t quite shake.

“Doesn’t matter,” he said, his voice lower now, more measured. “Faces lie. It’s your voice that tells the truth.”

You blinked. “My voice?”

Ghost nodded, leaning back slightly. “You can hear it. If you listen proper. More honest than any forced smile could ever be.”

For a moment, you didn’t know what to say.

Compliments, if that’s what this was, were scarce in your world, as rare as sunlight piercing through storm clouds. From Ghost, they were practically unheard of. Yet his words lingered, carrying a weight that pressed gently against the walls of your chest. A quiet warmth began to unfurl there, blooming softly like a flame coaxed from dying embers, a mixture of gratitude and something unnamed, something that settled in the hollow spaces you hadn’t realized were waiting to be filled.

Soap, visibly startled by the uncharacteristic remark, stared at Ghost as though he’d grown a second head. “Bloody hell, Lt.,” he muttered. “Didn’t know ye had a poetic streak.”

Your lieutenant paid him no mind, his focus already returning to the tablet in his hands, as if the moment had never existed. But you remained still, the weight of his words draping over you like a thick, unshakable cloak. Honest. The word lingered, unfamiliar yet strangely resonant, threading itself into the quiet spaces of your thoughts, where it settled with unexpected ease. Soap broke the moment with a playful nudge to your shoulder.

“Still, you could do with learnin’ a proper smile, eh? Just in case.”

Your eyes rolled, an instinctive motion this time, unbidden but oddly fitting. Soap’s laughter rippled through the room, bright and careless, but it barely registered, a distant echo against the steady hum of your thoughts. Ghost’s words lingered, heavy with meaning, a rare compliment that pressed itself into the quiet corners of your mind with a significance that eclipsed anything you’d ever known. Perhaps, you mused, letting the warmth of the moment settle over you, it wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

Maybe that was something you could finally understand.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA if I left a bad review on a book I haven’t purchased?

(📚📖 to find later)

I’m an audiobook narrator professionally. I do most of my work via independent contracting with a production company. NOTE: they are NOT a publishing house. They do not provide editors/betas/etc for the text, they focus on turning (usually self published) books into audiobooks and marketing those audiobooks.

Most of the books I record with them are great, and I have a lot of fun reading good books! But…some of the books I’ve read for them have been. REALLY. REALLY. bad. Like I personally would have stopped reading within the first few pages bad if it wasn’t literally my job to read the words out loud.

I’m currently reading a book for them that makes me want to tear my hair out. The writing is boring, badly paced, and repetitive. None of the characters are likeable, and the relationships are shallow, the combat is boring, there are no stakes, etc etc. To give you an idea, the main character is the type of kid who on the playground would insist he had a mega super invincibility shield so you couldn’t touch him, but he also had a mega super invincibility shield breaking sword if you decided you wanted a shield too. And the narrative REWARDS HIM for acting that way.

I’ve never left a review on any of the books I’ve narrated before, but this one…i am seriously considering writing a review to try and warn people away from this book.

A few things to consider, though:

1: i am not being paid royalty share from the book, i get a flat rate based on the number of hours in the final audiobook. But as far as I know, the author only starts making money from producing this audiobook once the production company makes back the money they paid me for making it.

2: i would review anonymously/under a fake name and only on the book product page, not the product page for the audiobook version.

3: if an audiobook does not sell, then it is most likely I will not be obligated to continue recording the rest of the series (and it IS a series. At least three books are out as of now. I am currently slated to record them all, provided the audiobook sells decently)

4: the book currently has ~250 reviews already, and a 4.7/5 rating (how???? get some fucking standards), so it’s not like I’m leaving a 1 star review on something that only has 6 reviews.

I don’t think that one bad review would tank the whole series, but I do feel like leaving bad reviews on a product I didn’t even buy might be a dick move, especially if the author’s pay for this book relies on it selling well. But on the other hand, his book sucks and people should know that.

I wouldn’t be leaving a “0 stars: this sucks” review, I’d want to make it comprehensive and detailed. But I’d also feel bad about that because I’m sure the author reads his reviews, and even though his book sucks shit, i don’t want to like…make someone lose their passion to write? But ALSO if you’re making people pay $16 for the book and/or $40 for the audiobook, maybe the book should be fucking good? Idk.

So, tumblr, WIBTA?

[elionwriter]

Sherlock Holmes the Awakened: a Review

(SPOILERS AHEAD)

Sorry, sorry, sorry, but I just NEED to talk about this game! I have been a Frogwares Holmes fan since the very beginning and 'The Awakened' was always among my favourite titles. Not to mention one of the games that had scared the wits out of me. So I have to speak about the Remake now.

First and foremost, I think it needs to be reiterated that this game was made DURING THE FU****G INVASION OF UKRAINE! During such dark times, the team kept working on this. I would have supported this game even just for this reason alone.

Now, let's be honest: Frogwares never had the most marvelous graphics nor the most polished of gameplays and this entry is not an exception. I still feel the map system is a bit difficult to navigate (I may be an idiot, but I had the same issue with Chapter 1) but I really appreciated the added help the game gives you when you're recreating a scene, letting you know which passage you got wrong. Last game I found myself changing everything trying to hit the right combination so I really liked this fix.

This needs to be said: the game doesn't feel under any shape or form a product for a new fan. Everything from dialogues to game mechanics sort of take for granted that you've at least played 'chapter one'. Honestly? I'm ok with this, I hate having to always go through nearly identical tutorial stages for games I know inside out (like Pokémon) and I believe that most of not all people who are going to get this game ARE old fans!

I wasn't originally a big fan of the new Holmes and Watson models when the last game came out but....I dunno, they have grown on me. I find myself liking them now for, I suppose, no other reason than 'they are very expressive' and 'I've gotten used to them'. I think it's gotten to the point that these might be my favourite models of the two to date. Please ignore how fickle I am! (In honesty, just to draw a similar parallel, when Roger Craig Smith was first announced as Sonic's voice I hated it and now he's my fav Sonic v. actor)

This game has something.....compared to its predecessor, that makes it less scary. I can't really put my finger on it, but I distinctly remember the feeling of claustrophobia building in me when I was in the Black Edelweiss. Or the sheer jumpscare I got when the sacrificed American detective on the altar had tentacles coming out of it and severing his head making it roll to the ground. I remember almost not wanting to paddle the rowboat under the tree of hanging men in the Bayou. I remember how viscerally sick I felt at the lighthouse by all the gore and blood depicted. This time round.....I just didn't. I'm honestly not sure why this didn't hit me nearly as hard as its 2006 predecessor did!

And talking about comparisons, one thing I'm a bit disappointed they didn't grab the chance to do in this remake was fix the loose ends that were left hanging in the 2006 version. I mean....they still abandoned completely the search for that one Maori servant, what happened to all the people they managed to rescue? Who hired the private American detective that was killed? Why give out the cheap pendants? I know I'm a bit dumb and need extra explaining than what is necessarily needed but...I can't be the only one right? Sometimes you want to be told just a bit more.

Now, getting into the really good bits, that make all of it worth it!

'Chapter One' acted as a 'de facto' reboot of the Frogwares Holmes series, and I honestly think that was for the best. I don't really see where they could have gone with things after 'Devil's Daughter' and their Holmes had changed too much to be the same guy from 'The Silver Earring'...let alone Watson. But like this? They have a fresh, clean slate to start off from and they can rebuild the two mains' relashionship and lore from the ground up in a more strictly consequential manner. And the way they are doing it? I think it's state of the art!

The fact that they poke fun at themselves on certain points like Watson stating: "What about when you used to roll up only one of your sleeves? Did you get bored halfway through?!" I think the Devs themselves realized this was a cringe design choice and I like that they said so out loud.

The meta-conversation they wrote in towards the end, 'because yes, this HAS Happened before and the story still has the same outcome', is brilliant. I don't think I've ever seen another remake that acknowledges that it is a remake, and in the general madness that is mounting in the narrative this makes perfect sense! It adds one more layer of horror and inexplicable to the tale. The villain's warning 'that the Final Problem is coming and Sherlock will fall in the abyss too' is such a powerful way to use Canon. The prophecy is only made more real and dreadful by the fact that this person is aware of what has already happen in a similar but different scenario!

Also, not them using that one quote from 'The Valley of Fear' novel which happens to be one of my all time favourites!

I say, Watson,’ he whispered, ‘would you be afraid to sleep in the same room as a lunatic, a man with softening of the brain, an idiot whose mind has lost its grip?’ ‘Not in the least,’ I answered in astonishment. 'Ah, that’s lucky,’ he said, and not another word would he utter.

I think the thing that has most benefited from the Remake is Watson's character. Compared to the 2006 version, this Watson is a truly compelling character in his own right and this time round he's not just along for the ride. In this version, you simply cannot imagine how Holmes would have done it on his own. Watson was in every way a key component to the solution of the problem and the reason why Holmes didn't drown in madness. That point is driven home by Rochester asking 'How did you defeat me?' and Holmes answering 'I made a friend!'

Much of the narrative in the game was focused on Holmes truly learning to accept Watson's friendship and him as a person when he was still clinging so much to his old imaginary friend. You can see how, at first, Holmes refuses to be honest with the Doctor about what he thinks and feels and it's only as they move forward in the adventure that they both open up to each other. You can see as the adventure progresses that Holmes shifts his desperate cries from 'Jon' to 'Watson' to 'John' and the Doctor goes more and more often from 'Holmes' to 'Sherlock'. Mycroft also points this out when he says that Sherlock 'went from one Jon to another'. But this one, John Watson, is real and there to stay. In the context of a story that happens mostly in the detective's mind, Watson's friendship is really what turns the situation around!

I could add of little tid bits which were so random and on the nose that somehow worked, like the possessed 'Heidi' doll or the fact that you had to actually 'Kill Holmes' with the booby traps instead of avoiding them.

Also, "The director Guygax was randomly killed.....by a doll?!????!?!?! Yeah, let's just walk out of here no questions asked. That's too deep a wormhole even for this f***d up Adventure to go down. I'm sure nobody is gonna ask us questions, suspect or stop us as we go out the main doors!" 😃 -Holmes, probably.

So, yeah, I loved this game despite it not being perfect and my love and support goes to Frogwares more that ever!

[ladespeinada]

Some thoughts on season three of The Bear, hastily written after finishing it:

Sydney Adamu. My love, my life, my heart, my soul. Her frustration just grew and grew and grew throughout the season, and underpinned with that score, made me increasingly anxious until it finally culminated in that intense panic attack she had outside of her apartment (at which point, it felt cathartic.) She’s so clearly mirroring Carmy and his relationship with his old boss, down to panicking in the same spot. I want better for her, in multiple ways, up to and including healthcare benefits.

Which leads me to: why the fuck was Nat working so close to her due date, and why did no one push back against her going to pick up boxes of napkins when she’s literally about to burst. I know it meant that we got Ice Chips out of it, and an episode focused on Nat and Donna, but it didn’t make sense to me.

“I left you alone.” “So, don’t let it happen again.” “It’s never gonna happen again.” That blue-eyed, curly-haired, Grecian-faced man lied in Sydney’s face, thinking that being physically present in the same space and working in proximity means the same thing as not leaving her alone. Sydney was more alone in this season than she was in the season two when Carmy fucked off and hung out with Claire and talked about emergency room horror stories.

The presence of the Faks was overwhelming this season, which ended up feeling like purely ornamental proof that The Bear is indeed a comedy because look at these bumbling fools! They’re funny! They’re little jesters! Any and every self-serious restaurant after a Michelin Star will surely have Two Little Guys at the helm, no matter if they have no serious training or serving skills!! It’s not as if said self-serious restaurants aren’t regularly draining money on overhead costs, of which labour is surely a part of! (Why did the Computer only suggest Marcus get cut from The Bear, and not the fucking Faks? Are they not getting paid? What the hell is the deal there? These are not serious people.)

“If you fuck with Marcus, I will murder you.” IKTR!!!!!!

Why did the screen time for all of the characters of colour get minimised, especially in comparison to last season. Why did neither Angel or Manny have any major lines that weren’t just curse words, or scenes where they were interacting with others beyond washing dishes. Why did I see the Faks more than I saw Sydney. I wanted to see more of Gary’s somm classes. I wanted to see more Ebra. I wanted to see more of Marcus’ desserts. I also wanted to see Marcus more actively hanging out with Luca. I wanted more scenes with Tina and Marcus cooking together, riffing off of each other and their experiences!

Finally, some interiority for my sweetiepie Tina Marrera! That said, we mostly got a look at her past, and a limited look at her present (my girl is experiencing some massive imposter syndrome, but we don’t get to dig into it much. Nor do we get many Tina x Ebra moments which is an affront to me personally because their relationship is my favourite). I read this Slate review of season three by Jack Hamilton after I finished watching season three, and while I don’t agree with everything, I found this articulation especially in line with my thinking re: Tina and her episode: “The incessant use of flashbacks feels like a crutch to avoid characters or the show itself actually moving forward, in any direction. Dribbling out details of a character’s past like breadcrumbs is a hackish and tiresome device: Filling in backstory shouldn’t be confused with character development.”

That said!!! The scenes with Michael, especially in Tina’s episode, are incredible. Just a few minutes and you can see the shine of Michael’s charisma, the underbelly of his pain, you miss him and want him back, you see why everyone loved him so deeply. He was so magnetic in this episode, and so terrifying in Forks, and the decline in between those episodes must’ve been so painful to watch. 

This might sound silly to say because it was still very much everywhere, especially in the beginning of EP2, but Chicago felt like it was missing. Or rather, the anxieties of Chicago were missing. In seasons one and two, there’s the looming threat of Chicago gentrification (in one, The Beef is hurt by it; in two, The Bear is a part of it), plus there’s the aftereffects of COVID on Chicago’s restaurant scene. In season three, we got shots of Chicago, yes, and a lot of like, Wilco or whatever, but it didn’t feel grounded in the city the way it had in previous seasons. Not quite sure how to articulate this thought, but there you go.

The “haunting” the Faks go on and on (and on and on) about is so hamfisted, and felt so out of place for a show whose writing is usually quite taut, especially in its comedic moments. It’s just bashing you over the head with the idea that omg, it’s not just the dead that can haunt the living, the living can as well! What an idea!

I really wish Claire’s character was better written, but once again, her characterisation fell flat because she’s presented in mostly flashbacks, and through Carmy’s perspective at that, and that man apparently has difficulties understanding that she’s meant to be a person and not just a concept.

The moment in the final episode, where Syd and Carm are eating with other chefs at Ever, and one of them says “the greatest mistake is working for a bad boss, such that, what it unlocks in you is the culture that you choose to create”....hilariously unsubtle but fantastic nonetheless, because it’s followed by Carm confronting his nightmare boss (David Fields! I def did think he was a hallucination Carm was experiencing at Ever's funeral), and because it’s absolutely clear that Carm is also a fucking bad boss, and Sydney should absolutely not sign those papers. (I don’t think she should go with Adam and his new restaurant either, because the vibes are off there, too.) 

Along those lines: that moment where Carmy says, I think about you too much, and Fields responds with, I don’t think about you was fantastic, but also felt unearned.

Olivia Coleman’s Chef Terry saying, Service, bitches! was tremendous. 

Reiterating that I wanted to see more of Luca and Marcus together. I love them, your honour.

Selfishly, I indulged and binged this season because I was hoping it would unlock inspiration for me to keep writing my Tina fic and just fic in general but I don't think it did that, unfortch.

(Last thing: yet another season with Taylor Swift but no Fall Out Boy. We continue to suffer.)

[richincolor]

Title: The Last Bloodcarver Author: Vanessa Le Genres: Fantasy, Science Fiction, Mystery Pages: 384 Publisher: Roaring Brook Press Review Copy: eARC provided via NetGalley Availability: Available now

Summary: Nhika is a bloodcarver. A coldhearted, ruthless being who can alter human biology with just a touch.

In the industrial city of Theumas, Nhika is seen not as a healer, but a monster that kills for pleasure. And in the city's criminal underbelly, the rarest of monsters are traded for gold. When Nhika is finally caught by the infamous Butchers, she's forced to heal the last witness to a high-profile murder.

As Nhika delves into the investigation, all signs point to Ven Kochin, an alluring yet entitled physician's aide. Despite his relentless attempts to push her out of his opulent world, something inexplicable draws Nhika to him. But when she discovers Kochin is not who he claims to be, Nhika will be faced with a greater, more terrifying evil lurking in the city's center...

Her only chance to survive lies in a terrible choice—become the dreaded monster the city fears, or risk jeopardizing the future of her kind.

Review: [The Last Bloodcarver includes a significant amount of body horror, from interacting with corpses to repeated references to medical experimentation by a colonial power. The book also includes animal death and extended scenes of characters seriously injured (stab/gunshot wounds).]

I absolutely adored Vanessa Le’s The Last Bloodcarver. Le’s debut novel is set in a complicated Vietnam-inspired fantasy (and science fiction) world, one where war has forced Nhika’s family out of Yarong and into the neutral city-state of Theumas. Even though Nhika has escaped into (currently) neutral territory, Daltanny’s occupation of Yarong still affects Nhika, from the proliferation of the term “bloodcarver” instead of “heartsooth” to the loss of cultural knowledge regarding heartsoothing after Nhika’s grandmother’s death.

That cultural disconnect and the loss of knowledge is something that haunts Nhika throughout the novel. She is keenly aware of her much she doesn’t know and has complicated feelings about how she uses her heartsoothing to survive when the previous generations could do it openly and were honored for it. Theumas might be better for Nhika than Yarong under Daltanny’s occupation, since she isn’t automatically slated for horrific medical “experiments”, but Theumas has its own problems. When the Butchers capture and arrange to sell Nhika, the prospective buyers range from people who think if they consume her heart, they will be cured of whatever ails them, to people who clearly want to use her as an assassin. Even when she is purchased by the Congmi family to try to heal a family friend (and promised freedom and payment even if she can’t help him), fear, suspicion, and hostility are close at hand.

So it’s wonderful whenever Nhika is able to make small connections to what she has lost. (There is a scene where she acquires some Yarongese items and is overwhelmed by what they represent that is just lovely.) Whenever Nhika made the choice to heal and to help, I was delighted by her determination to honor what her grandmother taught her. I appreciated the contrast Kochin represented to Nhika’s experience and the places where the two of them were aligned. Kochin was a character that I didn’t warm up to until after his reveal, but I think his character arc complemented Nhika’s very well.

The mystery of who killed Quan and seriously injured Hendon isn’t a complex one, but unraveling the mystery is far less important than Nhika learning why it happened. Once we have that information, the rest of the book falls into place beautifully. Le’s plotting and development of themes really shined in the second half and propelled the novel to an incredible final act that made me fervently hope there would be a sequel. (And there will be!)

Recommendation: Get it now, so long as you aren’t put off by body horror, medical experimentation, and some gore. Vanessa Le created a fascinating fantasy/sci-fi world in The Last Bloodcarver, and the impacts of war and colonialism on Nhika and her people are explored in interesting ways while a murder mystery unfolds in the foreground. Le’s medical-based magic system is fascinating, and Nhika’s character journey is compelling. I’m looking forward to the conclusion of this duology next year.

Extras: Author Chat w/ Vanessa Le | Books and Boba

Q&A: Vanessa Le, Author of ‘The Last Bloodcarver’

[snarkys-malarky]

Snow Time like the Present

Not really happy with the title name but I wanted to throw in my donation toward Tech Tuesday!!

This version is SFW and can be read by those of the 13+ crowd I feel. If you want the spicy version, hit me up. I may post it later anyway if I get time.

I live off the dopamine dump from comments, reblogs and reviews.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I wasn’t sure how I kept getting myself into weird situations but it seemed to be a trend in my life that had no intention of slowing down. Sitting inside of a grounded space craft, freezing my arse off while waiting for the other person I was with to (hopefully) return was definitely, I felt, outside of normal for most folks. This other person with me insisted on cheecking on the hyperdrive for which, and I quote, my assistance was unnecessary. I wasn’t sure what I did to make him dislike me but (ok, well maybe I have an idea but I apologized) try as I might, I couldn’t get on his good side. I credited it to the way I met up with him and the odd but loveable bunch of misfits that was his family.

After all, I was trying (accidentally) to kill them.

A fact for which I have repeatedly apologized and done my very best to make amends for but some people just refuse to let bygones be bygones.

It wasn’t even personal. I was in a bit of a spot and the guy who I owed quite a bit of credits to insisted that bringing in the kid would wipe the slate clean and I would be free to go. Considering he had my ship impounded and I couldn’t get off the dirtball where he reigned supreme without it, I agreed. I’m no professional bounty hunter, how was I supposed to know she had 4 older brothers who would literally do anything to protect her?

And is it my fault that the kid and I got into a tug of war over the blaster and the kill/stun switch got moved from stun to kill just as I pulled it away from her and then had to fight for my life against the running tide of death that suddenly rounded the corner and was chasing us?

It’s not like I intended to hit goggle guy.

With my abysmal aim, I thought it was a miracle I hit anyone at all, and it was just a flesh wound anyway, only grazed his thigh…kinda.

I tried to explain that once they (of course) caught us. Funnily enough, it was the kid and the small mountain of a man (who I later learned was called Omega and Wrecker respectively and both of whom I absolutely adore) who decided to use their superpower of irresistible baby tooka eyes to keep the others from killing me on the spot just for the principle of the thing. The pale one (whose name is Echo and who has a never-ending supply of corny jokes) just rolled his eyes and went to help the one I accidentally winged while the bandana wearing hottie (Hunter, who needs a massage more than anyone I have ever met) just sighed and turned to me. I offered to help patch up goggle guy (called Tech and the source of my current woes) but the death glare said goggle wearing guy sent me killed that. Granted he was doing a pretty good job on his own with the stuff from his backpack.

Hunter, arms crossed and broody scowl firmly in place, was the one to interrogate me and find out why I was trying to kidnap their sister.

Like I said, it wasn’t personal. I just wanted my ship back and to get the hell off that planet. I couldn’t even tell them why Horgan (that was the guy holding my ship to ransom) wanted her. He just said she’d been kidnapped and was worth a lot of money returned and he didn’t plan to kill or slave her.

I do have some principles after all.

Getting the hell off that planet would suffice as well since I didn’t figure Horgan to be the type to expend the energy to come after me, especially if he still had my ship. Losing my ship would hurt for sure, it was the only thing I really had and my way of making money but, in the balance of the galaxy and my personal life or death, I had no problem leaving it.

Imagine my surprise when Hunter (after a stern look from the kid) offered a ride off planet.

Since my momma didn’t raise no fool, I jumped at the offer and followed them back to their ship, listening the whole way to the pale guy and goggle guy list reasons why helping me was a Bad Idea.

It was kinda funny when Omega turned to look at both of her complaining brothers and told them they were better than that just like she was their mother.

It was even funnier when they both shut up and looked away, just like they had been scolded by their mother.

Considering that clones don’t have mothers I figure that was another of Omega’s superpowers. However, I didn’t know that at the time, about them being clones, so my snort laughing at their faces probably didn’t help my situation but it didn’t get me left behind either so…win.

They were all shocked to discover, on our way back to Ord Mantell, their apparent base of operations, that I had been a blockade runner during the Clone Wars for several Republic planets and was about 9/10 of the way to having my healer certifications.

Ha, not the shiftless no good you guys just assumed I was.

How I ended up on Partoola was a long story and one I didn’t like to think about so I gave them the redacted version.

The heavily redacted version.

Which was something along the lines of “I don’t know you and I don’t want to talk about it but it involved nothing illegal and I’m not wanted by the Empire”.

Which was more than they could say so I call it fair.

My skill set allowed me to easily get a job on Ord Mantell (apparently even almost healers were rare in the Outer Rim, especially Core trained ones, and I was a hot commodity) and it wasn’t long before I had a shitty little apartment and found myself often hosting the young Omega and Co. when they were on planet.

I blame it on the fact I could cook, and liked to cook, and had money with which to buy food to cook and they all, to a man (and child), greatly appreciated food that wasn’t rations.

The first time I invited them over to eat, by way of apology for trying to kidnap Omega and giving Tech a new scar, I wasn’t sure they would come. I had cornered them at Cid’s, their official, unofficial, hangout, about a month after our adventure together. I had seen them several times before as Omega had decided before we even made it to Ord Mantell to adopt me, like I was some kind of lost tooka kit, and insisted on comming me whenever they were on the planet and wanting to see me.

Which usually meant me meeting her at Cid’s and either spending time losing repeatedly to Omega in dejarik or, if a brother was available, going on chaperoned walks to the market square and buying Mantell Mix, for which she had a serious addiction.

This time she had greeted me enthusiastically by jumping into my arms (it was a good thing I was tall for a female) and telling me she was glad to see me alive.

I had to wonder at what all this kid experienced for that to be her go to greeting.

All four of the men were gathered at the bar, drinks in hand and turned to look at me with a synchronization which was a little bit disturbing, to be honest.

I put on my best smile.

And noted Tech look down with a frown.

Oh well, can’t win them all.

I repeated my carefully rehearsed invitation and was please to note Omega’s eyes light up and she began to bounce. A good indicator that my invitation would probably be accepted, no matter how the others felt about it.

That child had them so whipped.

If she ever figured out how much I wanted ring side seats.

I was also gratified to note Wrecker’s hopeful expression and even Echo looked intrigued.

Hunter, as usual, looked cautious.

Tech just kept looking down.

In the end, the invite was accepted and I and my tiny apartment played host to a group of clones who acted like they had never had real food before.

It was a bit of a cringe thought to think that maybe they hadn’t.

After poking and prodding and carefully sniffing (even though they all commented at some point how good it smelled when they arrived) they all began to eat.

And eat.

And eat.

Holy kriff was I glad I estimated on the larger end of the scale how much to cook because they cleaned it all up.

And no one spent any time hesitating over dessert when I brought it out, instead falling in with enthusiasm.

I noticed Tech’s enthusiasm seemed to be just a bit more than the others and took amused note that he was the apparent sweet tooth in the bunch.

There then followed a much more relaxed atmosphere of food filled males. Once I turned on the holonet and found a program which Tech and Omega both latched onto with enthusiasm, I set about cleaning up the disaster as I observed them with no small amount of amusement. I knew by now they lived on their ship and wondered how often they had such an opportunity as this, to do something that most beings considered so normal and mundane.

It wasn’t long before all but Omega and Tech were steadily filling the air with the soft sounds of sleeping males. Those two were still glued to the holoprojector. I finished my cleanup before making my way to the small sitting area and settling onto the floor next to Omega. I had snagged from the back of the sofa the large throw and, after sitting, unfolded it to share across with Omega and Tech as well. He demurred, saying he was not cold which left Omega to gleefully gather up the remainer and burrow into it, leaning into my side and cuddling down until her head was nearly in my lap.

I was pretty sure she would be asleep before long.

I was right.

I looked down and grinned when I heard the soft sounds of her snoring, not being able to resist petting that fluffy blond mop. I ran my hands thru her hair, scritching gently at her head. I looked up after a moment to find Tech gazing intently at us. I offered him a small smile and was again disappointed as he turned quickly away, fastening his attention to the screen in front of us.

I sighed quietly.

I found myself after that night mass cooking at least once a week for six. At first, they used an array of flimsy excuses to find a way to finagle an invitation until I finally took the bantha by the horns and told them I really appreciated getting to exercise my cooking skills again and also get to have company which just so happened to intimidate the local nasties enough that they tended to steer clear of my apartment block when they decided to practice their main skillsets of B&E.

Maybe it was a slight stretch of the truth but the upshot was I got to have company and cook, they got to eat and spend time somewhere other than their ship and I had the safest apartment in that not particularly great neighborhood.

Another upshot was I occasionally got tapped to come with them on missions (read money making gigs), especially if there was the possibility of Omega needing to be kept out of trouble.

The first time I went because I happened to be off work for a couple days, was bored, and Omega gave me her class 1 baby aak eyes, which, so far as I knew, no one had the power to resist.

The subsequent times after that I had no good excuse except I liked this scruffy bunch of nerfs and I took advantage of the time they were gone to convince Omega to try and help me clean the ship enough to get the godsawful smell down to a dull roar.

Honestly, an enclosed space inhabited only by males is bound to be bad. Add in the fact that none of them seemed to have the slightest idea of how to clean just made it ten times worse.

The first time Omega and I did it, we pretended like nothing had been done and watched covertly for reaction. Wrecker and Tech seemed oblivious but Echo took a couple of deep breaths, gave us both a nearly teary-eyed look of gratitude and walked by. Hunter kept deep breathing and looking confused but pleased.

After that, Echo found a reason for me to go on as many missions as he could manage. And I usually went because, well, because why not? This ragtag bunch had become as much family to me as I had ever had and the idea of something happening to them without me knowing about it was unbearable.

Which is what ended me up in my current predicament, i.e., freezing my shebs off on a Force forsaken planet in a bid to help Tech, who out of them all seemed to like me the least. It was just supposed to be a quick supply run for Cid. The others were recovering from some very bad street food which I had not been present for and Tech refused to eat anything from a street vendor. They had all shown up at my door in the mid evening that day with a pale and sweating Omega carried by Tech, the rest of them in not much better shape. After a quick med scan, I confirmed what Tech had already been telling them, that they all had a bad case of food poisoning. I could tell he was trying hard not to I told you so his miserable siblings but it was a near thing. I had him help me to get them all settled, with Hunter and Omega getting my bed and Echo on the sofa with Wrecker on a nest on the living room floor since he was way too big for the sofa or anywhere else. After administering some low dose antiemetics and making sure everyone had fluids and vomit containers, Tech went back to the Marauder to get Lola for Omega, who had asked so pitifully for the stuffy that I could almost visibly see Tech melt before patting her head and hurrying off after the requested item. Hunter then asked(begged) me to go with Tech since Cid was being her usual arse of a self and demanding a supply run job be run since ‘Tech was still fine wasn’t he’?

It seemed the Batch had a personal rule about no one ever being alone, especially on ops. I tried not to giggle at the thought of picking up a load of alcohol as an op even as Hunter hit me with his own version of baby aak eyes and I folded like a tent in the wind.

So, after making sure none of them were about to die whilst we were gone and after Tech’s obligatory arguing about why I didn’t have to go, he eventually gave in and off we went.

Then the hyperdrive, which Tech had said was fixed since an earlier trip where it had blew, turned out to not be as fixed as he thought and we had been lucky to be thrown out of hyperspace instead of blown to miniscule bits. It just sucked that we were thrown out with the only breathable atmosphere planet close enough for emergency landing being an icebox that probably classified as many species version of hell.

I know it was certainly contending heavily for mine.

After what Tech referred to as a “controlled crash landing” which was Tech code for the ship didn’t end up in a mile long debris field of component pieces, we unbuckled and got up to assess the damage. I was not the mechanic or techno whiz that Tech was but I had flown a ship thru the wars  and knew enough to tell what was what. We both began to check over the ship, me with the manual check and Tech checking diagnostics. It wasn’t until I heard him let loose a particularly vicious Huttese curse that I began to worry. When he said he needed to check outside I looked out the cockpit viewport to note it was snowing. He opened the ship to go out and assess the damage there and the burst of freezing air that whipped in and against us both was enough to steal my breath and cause an instant cascade of chills. The snow I had noted thru the viewport was coming down heavily. I looked at Tech and tapped his vambrace since he was already in his helmet. He turned to look at me.

“Are your blacks thermo-regulated for artic temps as well?”

“To a degree. The time before bodily damage occurs is relative to the ambient temperature. And the health of the wearer, of course.”

Of course.

“Set your timer then.” I told him. “If you’re not back in 20, I’m coming to find you.”

“That will not be necessary.”

“That’s correct, because you’re gonna be back in 15 so I don’t have to!” I yelled over the sound of the inrushing wind.

He stepped out and I closed up the ramp and set a timer on my comm. Then went into survival prep mode. I had no idea if long range comms were down or if this icy rock was inhabited. Figuring we would need to save as much power as possible, I started building a nest in the warmest interior part of the ship. Keeping warm would be of vital importance, as much as hydration and I knew this ship would get cold fast. I pulled the thin excuse for mattresses off the two racks and laid them together then gathered all the blankets and pillows I could find, even taking down the ones in Omega’s “room”. I pulled the med scanner and rations kits and extra hydration packs and placed them together in a pile near the makeshift nest.

I checked my timer and then sat down at the navigation console to wait.

The sad thing was, I knew we would probably have to huddle together to conserve body heat and any other time I would be thrilled at such a prospect. While he seemed to have a bit of a problem with me, I really liked Tech.

Like, really liked Tech.

He was everything I found attractive in a male. Terrifyingly brilliant, witty, funny, kind, caring. Not to mention just as deliciously gorgeous as all his brothers. There was just something about him that ticked all my boxes and even though probably any of the others would have been an easy win if I wanted to, of course my attention had to get fixed by the one out of the group that seemed to have some kind of allergy to me.

I had noticed his reticence around me and I had gone out of my way to engage him, thinking that maybe he was just shy and needed someone else to make the friendly overtures. After months of knowing them, I had come to know the others fairly well. However, getting Tech to talk with me had been difficult. I hit on asking him about things I heard him mention since he always seemed to have something to say but little opportunity to do so. Once he realized I was not teasing but sincere he could carry on about a topic in astonishing detail. Honestly, it was intimidating how much he seemed to know about just about anything you could ask. I loved listening to him enthusiastically talk about whatever the topic happened to be. It only took occasional questions to keep him going. And I would think we were making progress toward becoming friendly if not friends then he would back off again, shrinking back into himself and it would feel like starting all over again from the beginning.

I wasn’t sure what I was doing wrong. Sometimes I would see him looking at me, his expression unreadable before looking away. When I was with them on jobs, he would have that soft, almost smiling expression sometimes when Omega would ask me for stories while in hyperspace, cuddling up to me on a rack and falling asleep while I spoke. I wished I could figure out where I was wrong stepping but it would have to wait.

I checked my comm. It had been 25 minutes. Worried, I hurried to the ramp and opened it, just in time to see Tech stumble from under the ship and against the side of the ramp. Even though I was in no way dressed for it, I ran down the ramp, reaching to catch him as he stumbled again.

The cold was mind numbing.

Somehow, we made it back up the ramp and inside and I slammed my hand against the panel to seal the hatch. Tech fell to his knees. I scrambled down beside him and reached to pop the seal on his helmet before pulling it off. He was shaking so hard he couldn’t manage it.

His face was pale, his lips tinged blue. I swore loudly.

“Why didn’t you come in sooner?” I fumed as I worked to get him out of his armour.

“H-h-had t-to rep-pair long d-d-distance relay. B-boost c-c-comm signal. I c-can’t f-fix ship without p-parts.”

I was really worried at his disjointed and slurred speech. I managed to get him to the nest of blankets I had made on the floor and half pushed, half rolled his shaking form onto it. He curled into himself and I worried even more. I pulled off his gloves and unlatched and removed his boots, socks and vambraces, checking over his hands and feet as I went.

Damnit. Toes and fingers both showing signs of early frostbite, I cursed aloud once again. The stubborn kriffer. I bundled him in everything we had and grabbed the med scanner.

A quick head to toe scan showed me what I already knew.

He was hypothermic. I debated whether or not to strip him out of his blacks. They were crafted to keep the wearer’s body temperature regulated, yes. But they also appeared damp in the spots where they were not covered by armour. Erring on the side of caution, I began to run my hands over his body, trying to see if his blacks were wet or just appeared so.  I discovered they were actually wet in several spots and argued myself for a moment before gritting my teeth and tugging the items off him. Not an easy endeavor.

Of all the ways I had imagined getting him out of his clothes, this had not been one of them.

I had found one heating pack in the medical supplies and used it now. I started the thermal reaction and tucked it next to his hands as I began to take off my shoes. I had to use the biggest thermal heat producer I had available.

Which was me.

I crawled up next to his still shaking form. Unsure if he could hear me or not, I still told him what I was going to do.

“So, smart one, you’ve managed to give yourself a nice case of hypothermia. Since we are all out of sources of synthesized warmth right now, we’re gonna have to do this the old fashioned way.”

I apologized as I pulled the blankets back quickly and wrapped myself around him before tugging the blankets back into place. I laid my head against his icy cheek and spoke.

“I know I’m not exactly your favorite person but I’m all you got at the moment for a heater and I’m not about to let you freeze to death just cause you don’t like me.”

I hugged him close, trapping his hands with the warmer between us and rubbing my warmer feet gently against his to try and keep the circulation going. Toes he might could live without but I knew Tech would be lost if he lost any part of his hands. He buried his face into my neck, his breathy pants hot against my skin even as his skin was still much too cold. I rubbed my hands softly over his back, encouraging blood flow. I kept talking, telling him not to go to sleep, making him answer questions and using every method I could think of to keep his mind engaged enough to not slip into dangerous slumber. I knew as he warmed it would be harder.

It seemed forever before I felt his hard shakes begin to subside into softer shivers then occasional tremors. His body softened against mine, curving in more closely as he was able to instinctively seek the warmth he was too immobilized to be able to do earlier. I snaked a hand between us and felt gently along his hands and fingers, asking if he could feel here or if this tingled. His groggy answers eased some of my concern. I used my feet on his to perform more or less the same maneuver. He still had a few tingly spots on his feet but that was better than numb so I decided to leave it for the moment until I was sure his core temp was closer to where it should be and he was out of danger.  I was also now having to fight against my own adrenaline crash and subsequent shakes and sleepiness. Having his big, warm(ing) body wrapped around mine was not helping me win that battle. I wanted to drift off to sleep quite badly myself and it was only my still lingering fear for him that was helping me to fight it. I struggled on for a bit longer but when I felt myself jerk in that almost asleep but shouldn’t be reflex I knew I was losing the battle.

I wiggled an arm free and reached just above my head where I had, with way more forethought than I had thought myself capable of at the time, placed the med scanner. I turned it on and ran it awkwardly over what of him I could reach in my position. Thank the freggin Force it was showing him out of the danger zone. I laid it back over our heads and squirmed my arm back under the blanket again. Tech shifted against me and somehow, miraculously, managed to wrap even more of himself around me.

I was beginning to wonder if clones had some snake DNA in the mix.

I could feel his breathing edging into the deeper rhythms of sleep and decided it was safe to let him go.

For that matter, I decided it was safe to let me go as well and let the warmth we were now cocooned in work its magic.

I wasn’t sure how long I was out but waking up was deliciously disorienting. The first thing I noticed was being warm… very warm. The next thing I noticed was the spot where my head was resting was moving rhythmically up and down.

Something my pillow usually didn’t do.

I shifted a bit and realized I was shifting against something.

Make that someone.

My eyes shot open as the someone I was wrapped around, and who also happened to be wrapped around me, breathed deeper, body stretching as one does when slowly waking as the arms around me convulsively grew tighter and the hands began to languidly stroke over my back and my head, where one hand was buried. I tried not to move as I realized parts of me were extremely close to parts of him and I had one leg in a very strategic position.

It was very disturbing, to be simultaneously so very comfortable and relaxed and yet nervous and terror struck. Add in the fact that I had said someone running their hands over me like I was a pet tooka and my body and brain were stuck in a feedback loop of not knowing how to respond so I simply lay, frozen and unable to move a muscle.

“I do not dislike you, you know.”

What?

My mind was simply not making the necessary transition from sleeping to waking fast enough to follow.

I must have made some kind of sound because he continued.

“I do not dislike you at all. In fact,” he paused here and took a deep breath, a fact I could know for certain as my head was still resting on his shoulder, tucked in the space between the natural curve of his neck and chest. And boy, did he smell good.

“I… I like you very much.” This came out in a hurried rush.

That seemed to unlock me and I raised my head to look at him. I forgot I had pulled off his goggles and laid them to the side as well earlier and ended up practically nose to nose with a set of warm, golden brown eyes locked with mine.

Of the many times I had imagined confronting him and having a similar conversation as this and all the smart, logical, witty and cogent replies I had imagined myself having, alas my reality was immensely deficient and boiled down to a surprised sounding, “Y-you do?”

Reality was a bitch and vastly irritating and I would be having words with her later about the fact that I couldn’t seem to form necessary words at extremely important times.

But that was later since right now, I was hypnotized by watching the eyes that mine were locked with grow increasingly darker and that big, long-fingered and amazingly dexterous hand still on the back of my head press just enough that I finally clued in to what was happening, took the hint I hoped I was being presented with and leaned forward, pressing my lips to the ones just a breath away from my own.

Dear gods, he had amazing lips. Soft yet firm and perfect for the activity they were currently engaged in. I wasn’t sure which of us the soft moan I heard originated from but it definitely fit the mood. I had longed to taste him and now I was being handed my desire and I was not about to waste it. I slanted my mouth against his, pushing my body up just a bit so that I could glide the hand of the arm that had been wrapped around his torso up that chiseled chest and around his neck. I dug my fingers into the soft hair at the back of his head and there was no mistaking the moan that I heard this time was from him. He jerked me closer, a move which made the precariously positioned leg mentioned earlier slide hard against the hard thing it had been trying to avoid.

The effect was electric.

Tech gasped sharply, his hips jerking up hard against my traitorous leg, which seemed to have a mind of its own. I couldn’t resist the lust driven impulse to sensuously rub my leg over him, eliciting a sound I knew I would probably be hearing in some of my hotter fantasies from here on out. I slid said leg up and over his hip, causing me to groan as well as the shift in position allowed me to feel the hard, hot length of him against a very needy part of my anatomy. It caused me to curse quite fluently mentally at the fact I happened to still be wearing clothing. Even so, instinct still won and I couldn’t help my own hips from seeking friction against his. I felt his entire body shudder against mine and was gratified that this time, it had nothing to do with being cold.

He gasped my name against my lips as he continued to ravage them as our bodies moved against each other in increasing need. I wanted him so much I could barely string two thoughts together but the problem was I didn’t just want his body (which was smokin hot and definitely worth wanting). I wanted everything about him that had drawn me into this honey trap to begin with.

And I couldn’t just enjoy his body without making sure the rest was coming along for the ride as well.

I somehow found the willpower to dig deep and push him back for a moment. The look of confused dread on his face nearly caused me to stop with my intentions but my heart was, surprisingly, speaking louder than my hormones at the moment.

“Tech,” I panted, “I’m not gonna lie. I want you so bad right now I can barely think but I don’t want to do this if you are going to regret it later or if its going to make things weird between us,” I could feel my courage waning under the look he was leveling at me.

“I just… don’t want you to hate me later,” I hated how small and unsure my voice sounded at that last and turned my eyes from his, certain I had not only killed the mood but any burgeoning fondness he might have developed for me.

I felt one of those big hands I had somewhat of a fixation on gently cup my face and turn it back to his. It took him softly saying my name though before I could drag my gaze back to his.

“Mesh’la I must apologize for giving you a wrong impression. It seems in my attempt not to importune you with how I felt toward you, I have instead given you the opposite impression. I have never disliked you. In fact, from the moment we met when you shot me to now I have been impressed over and again with your courage, kindness, intelligence and beauty. I have never been good with expressing my feelings or reading those of others and I did not want to make you uncomfortable with me if all you felt toward me was friendliness. If that was all I could have then I was determined not to make it awkward. However,” a soft grin lit his face and hypnotized me with how excruciatingly handsome it made him, “I have recently come to suspect that you may feel more than just general friendliness for me. Would this be a correct assumption?” he asked, a bit cheekily I felt since we had all but been dry humping one another just a few moments ago.

I, however, managed to answer both succinctly and pertinently.

“Yes.” I said before dragging his head back down to mine and fastening my mouth to his.

His hands, clever things that they are, didn’t waste much time in divesting me of my clothing. My enthusiastic help probably was a boon as well. His eyes burned with appreciation as the last bit of my clothing was flung who knows where and all of me was visible. It was quite a stroke to my ego I had to admit to have a man as physically attractive as him admiring and desiring me. I considered myself quite average physically, neither fat nor skinny, a bit on the taller side but pretty much just your average, everyday female. I reached out, pulling him to me then pulling the blankets around us both.  The question on his face was easy to interpret.

“It’s too cold to waste good body heat.” I said with a smile and he grinned at my humor before I wrapped my arms around him once again. We both gasped and groaned at the sensation of being skin to skin. He hovered over me, a look of uncertainty on his face.

“I do not wish to crush you. I am a good deal heavier than you.”

I smiled up at him, “I’ll let you know if that becomes an issue. Right now, I can’t think of anything better than having your entire body pressed against mine.”

He answering smile lit up his face and made him look boyishly happy.

After that, there wasn’t much in the way of coherent noises, much less speech, for quite some time.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was nearly a full rotation later before his brothers, in a ship that looked as barely flight worthy as they did, barely recovered as they were. The ship was on loan from Cid with the understanding that someone besides her would be paying for its use but, it arrived with what we needed to fix the ship and get off that frozen rock.  I could tell Hunter immediately knew what was up as soon as he stepped on the ship and removed his helmet. He shot us both a Look before, surprisingly, a small grin then turned to help Wrecker who had called out from the bottom of the ramp. Tech and I swapped glances before moving to help, him warning them about the danger of the extreme temperatures and me to oversee the control panel as they hurried to make the needed repairs. Omega had been left back on Ord Mantell with orders to fleece as many of Cid’s clientele in dejarik as she wanted. A task I understood she set to with great glee.

As I sat relaying information and swapping quips and insults over comms to the group of men working to repair the ship, I smiled at the thought that this was my family now. A family I had never expected but one I could not imagine my life without now.

When I felt a pair of ice-cold hands slip down my shirt and cup my breasts as I shrieked only to hear Tech chuckle behind me. I grabbed his arms to pull him down to where I could kiss him properly, deciding perhaps the galaxy didn’t hate me as much as I had always thought.

The whistles and catcalls of his brothers behind us notwithstanding.

[jennablackmorebooks]

I don't usually even touch AI tools (the current model of content-gobbling and resource usage feels slimy to me, for starters), but when I opened the product page for one of my books on the app and saw it providing questions to ask its AI Rufus thing, I got a bit curious to know the answers. After all, I have a (sometimes flinching, but present) curiosity to know what people think of my writing, even if that "someone" is a piece of software.

It used evidence from "reviews" and I was like, hang on, I know what the feedback on this book says and none of them are using these quotes Rufus is pulling (Never mind that later Rufus really was churning reviewers' words into the content grinder... expletive expletive expletive...). Then it said "according to three reviews" when the book has fewer than three. I thought, "has Amazon been hiding other reviews from me, or is Rufus hallucinating feedback the way AI is wont to do?"

So I went to my most recent book, which came out last month and I was too sick and distracted to promote it for much of that month, which provided, in this case, a chance to see what was going on. No reviews, clean slate. And what did little Rufus have to say?

Rufus, you dastardly liar. Rufus, you false flatterer and sycophant. There are no reviews on this book. No one called it "a real page-turner" because no one, wicked little robot, called it anything. (Not even an 8-year-old son, for whom I would, I disclaim, not recommend this for. I don't think the prose is damningly complex but it's also probably not "simple" by a third grader's standards? But like, whatever, I don't know your eight year old or your life and this might be perfect if you don't mind letting the kid read about things like grief and mild violence, that's not my decision. Just to make it clear THIS IS NOT A CHILDREN'S BOOK BY PROSE STYLE OR THEMATIC INTENDED DEMOGRAPHIC just so we're all on the same page.)

You are spitting out garbled words of what you think a book review is supposed to read like and I don't like you for it.

[anyablackwood]

Tips for when you're struggling to "just write"

I'm sure we've all heard the advice to "just write" at some point. And while it's totally correct, the actual act itself is usually the main battle. Obviously we're all different and how we work and stay motivated etc. will also be different, but here's some stuff you can try if you haven't already!

Change the medium You'd be surprised how much this can help sometimes. Whatever you primarily use to write your stories- whether it's paper or computer, try switching it up. I usually use my computer to put my stories down, so if I'm struggling I bust out a notebook and pen. If you can't do that, simply making a new document or using a different writing app/site can help too. Hell, cut out the writing aspect entirely and just record yourself talking! Oftentimes, the hangup is centered around trying to pick up where you left off, and the pressure of "carrying the vibe/momentum" of the most recent scene. A "blank slate" can help remove the pressure if you're not looking at your other scenes. This ties into my next tip.

New scene!!! Like I said- sometimes, part of the pressure behind writing is when you try to pick up where you left off. It isn't just daunting, it's impossible when you genuinely don't know where to go next. Personally, I often run into the problem of "now what?" I don't know how to create "connective tissue" scenes, or (as I said), keep the momentum as I finish a planned Important Scene. So picking a random point in the story- whether that's the next Important Scene or one I haven't even figured out a place for yet- and just writing from there can really help. And this point also ties into my next tip!

FUCK PROSE. Seriously. I get VERY hung up on words not Wording properly, and it drives me insane. Often, I get so hung up on HOW to say what I MEAN to say, that I'll never end up writing anything down- and then I end up forgetting what I was going to say at all. Bulleting out my lines can help, but it's often even harder to translate those bullets into actual dialogue for me, so I try not to do that. Instead, I actually write out the scenes- but I do it really, really directly and plainly. Obviously, if inspiration strikes on a line, that's fine, but the point is to have a scene written. I try to be as quick and direct as possible, like a report or stage directions. "Oh, but I used 'muttered' to describe dialogue 3 times!" Oh well. "But this is just a full page of dialogue and no action or movement!" Too bad. The point isn't the pretty prose. You can cry about that later, after you actually write it. That's what revisions are for. You know you're just gonna obsess over and rewrite your work anyway, no matter how much time you're gonna spend on it the first go around. Save that headache for future you. They were gonna have one anyway.

Get up and go! It might surprise you, but sometimes it's the scenery of real life that you need to worry about. Whether it's getting up and moving to a different chair in your room, or moving to an entirely new building, sometimes being somewhere else rattles something loose inside your brain. Especially if you tend to write in your room- I personally can't do homework in my room because of all the clutter, but also because my mind associates my room with relaxing. I sleep, play video games, and tinker with my pet projects in my room. So if I can't focus, I go to my dining or living room, or even my campus library. Something about being around other people makes it easier to hold myself accountable.

Set realistic goals. Sometimes part of the problem is that you can't seem to find time, or that even when you do find time, it's never enough to make significant progress in your story. I struggle to dive headfirst into a scene even when I'm bursting with ideas- I need to review the most recent scene before I can start generating words. But knowing how much progress- or lack thereof- that's been made on your story can sometimes make it really overwhelming to even approach it. But like any other task, it's easier when you break it down. If the most you can write on the average day is three sentences, aim to write three sentences a day. Even if you end up scrapping them later, WRITE THEM. At the very least, it'll help build the habit and make it easier for you to seek out time and write in the future.

Take a break. Sometimes you really, really just can't write. No one else can assess what you need better than yourself. If you feel like you need a break, take one. Whether that's reading someone else's story, or taking a walk, or taking a nap, or just staring at that one spot on your wall, just PUT THE DAMN STORY DOWN. This is probably one you've heard before, but I'm saying it anyway, because some of you aren't listening!!!!! PUT IT DOWN, BESTIE!!!

That's all I can think of at the moment. These are all things I try to do personally, and while I'm not some award-winning novelist, I'm definitely writing things and trying my best!!! So maybe this will help someone else who's also trying their best, and just hasn't come across one of these methods yet.

[ncisfranchise-source]

NCIS: Origins Season 1, Episode 1 & 2 ‘Enter Sandman’ is a pretty good introductory two-parter, particularly because the “Pilot” is an outstanding episode, and ‘Enter Sandman, Part 2’ does a good enough job of tying up the loose ends left by the first hour and setting up the possible storyline threads the show is going to follow going forward.

Gibbs’ show this is not, even though in many ways, it is. Austin Stowell’s young Gibbs might be at the center of the story. He is the one telling us this tale. But as he tells us at the end of the Pilot, this story …well, it’s about someone else entirely. And that, well, that makes it a more interesting story, we’re not going to lie.

THIS IS A STORY OF HER

I haven’t been able to stop thinking about this line since I heard it. Because this line reframes the entire show as not just Gibbs’ story, but as the story of Lala Dominguez, and considering we actually already know so much about Gibbs that the entire premise of this show felt a little unnecessary, that is a much better story. And the reframing doesn’t actually take Gibbs out of the equation completely. This is still, in many ways, a story he is telling us, so he is very important to it. We still have many questions.

Why is Lala important to Gibbs? What makes this story one of the ones that is always with him? Why, exactly, is the story of Lala Dominguez one of the stories Gibbs doesn’t tell? And almost as importantly, is she still alive somewhere, in the continuity of NCIS? Or is this actually a story framed by loss for Gibbs? We don’t have the answers yet, even if we have suspicions, and we know very little of the characters populating this show, at least for now.

But we do know that Lala Dominguez is smart, funny, and the kind of woman who is chaffing against what is expected of her as a woman in the military in the early 90s. Because Lala wants to do things. She wants to make a difference. She’s good at her job. And in those days, all of those things didn’t matter as much if you were a woman. You were lucky to get where she did. The next rung, well …there was always a man who deserved it more.

WHEREVER YOU GO, THERE YOU ARE

NCIS: Origins Season 1, Episode 1 & 2 are about loss, because what else could they be about? We’re picking up Gibbs’ story at a time in his life that’s marked by what he lost. And at one point, we’ll meet him again, a man who carries that loss, but who has made a life for himself beyond it. That’s not this Gibbs. This is a man trying to stay afloat, a man Mike Franks threw a lifeline to.

This just leads to many more interesting questions the first two episodes do a great job of setting up. Why did Franks throw him a lifeline? What did he see in Gibbs that made him want to help him? Or …did he just need Gibbs for some reason that we’re not privy to yet? Does it have something to do with what he and Strickland were talking about at the end of the two-part premiere?

“There is no such thing as a clean slate,” Harmon says in the voiceover for the first hour. And there really shouldn’t be. If NCIS: Origins was ever going to be something interesting, it was always going to need to dig deep, not just into who Gibbs is, but who Franks is, what their relationship was really like, and how these people we don’t know shaped Gibbs into the man we will one day meet.

But it isn’t just about the story Gibbs is telling now, a story he himself tells us, he could never tell before. It’s also about the whys. Why now? Why not before? We might know what story he is trying to tell, but those are still very important answers for the show to provide going forward.

TO GET TO AN END WE COULD LIVE WITH

“The stories go where you go,” implies that whatever we’re going to learn in NCIS: Origins is going to resonate with the man Gibbs will one day become. But there’s a line in that opening monologue that feels ominous. He does, after all, refer to this story he’s telling as a “story that got cut short.” Whether that means someone’s life or his intervention in the story, we don’t yet know. Maybe the people behind the show haven’t really decided yet. But that’s at the center of what makes this two-parter interesting, what makes this show stand out as more than just a prequel about a fairly well-known character.

“It’s our job to tell those stories, no matter how much they took from us,” the voiceover also says. But we have to reconcile that with the thought that Gibbs has never told this story before, and with the knowledge that a man who knows as much about loss as he does could not hesitate to share this story before for anything but big reasons.

So, what is the end of this story? If Gibbs is to be believed, part of the job is to “tell an ending of justice, no matter the cost.” And he would know. He’s paid the cost one too many times. We just weren’t there to see it. If there’s a cost now, well …it’s going to hurt a lot more than the things that happened just before this show started ever did.

Things I think I think:

As someone who was on this set a few months ago, the way they’ve incorporated 90s “tech” is kinda genius, especially when considering I remember the conversations about how hard it was to source some of these things in the first place.

We get very little from Mary Jo in the two-part premiere, which just makes me feel like I want so much more from Mary Jo.

Honestly, we don’t get enough from Vera either, but at least there’s a twist there to what she’s doing which I LIKE. Diany Rodriguez is outstanding, and I love how she’s bringing a sense of rebelliousness to a character who could just be “another woman on the job.”

And the convo between Vera and Lala? I will pay good money for this show to make their friendship an important touchstone going forward. We barely get to see two Latinas like this on shows set in 2024! Imagine on a show set in the 90s and in Camp Pendleton. Might not be the path I would ever choose, but I’m always pretty glad when I can say see, we belong everywhere.

Randy Randolf is a funny name, but Caleb Foote, who is btw a delightful individual, fits so damn well with this show that I wouldn’t be surprised if the recurring is dropped from his status really soon. Imagine what kind of show we’ll have if we leave all the serious people alone by themselves!

Also, give them ten episodes and the bromance between him and Gibbs will be A+.

Did I expect to like Mike Franks as much as I do? Can’t say I saw that coming!

[merrydock]

Let me tell you how much I love the Gossan drill miner lore, I love the sketches and design you made for the drill and how it's reflecting the early ship prototypes, I know I've already told you all of it in a review (so feel free to tell me I'm annoying) but I'm eating it for breakfast every morning.

Ahhh, thank you!! It means so much to hear that people are interested in my designs and my interpretation of pre-canon Timber Hearth ::D. Drill Operator Gossan is canon to me now and forever lol.

I know my fic is Gosslate but it's also very much centred on how Outer Wilds Ventures got its start and evolved. I realised quickly that I couldn't hand-wave away a lot of my design choices in my writing...Both Slate and Gossan have a very thorough understanding of the machines they make/use. So, I sat down and sketched out some designs to use as references! I'm not very confident in my art yet, but I enjoy drawing schematics and diagrams, and I thought the drill turned out nicely. I figured if I needed a reference to write, others might appreciate a reference while reading, especially since the drill design is absolutely critical to the story. I go into fine detail on how it functions and handles in a later chapter (one of my favourites, actually)!

I could go on and on about the drill and its design specifics, and what it means for how the ships are developed haha, it's something I've spent a lot of time working on and something I love talking about. I am so glad you love it as much as I do! I've been making references for some other contraptions, too, so I'll probably post a couple of those once I'm happy with them ::)

Thanks again!!! I love hearing your thoughts!!

[thats-the-teen-spirit]

Top 20 songs of 2024 reviewed by yours truly

As a yearly tradition I review my most liked songs when Spotify Wrapped comes out. Since this year was full of bangers, I extend the list to 20 instead of 10. Rules:

One song per artist

Can only include song when the song itself came out this year (album doesn't count)

Enjoy and thanks if you read it through.

20. Windwaker - Tabula Rasa

This song took me by surprise and I have not nearly listened to this band enough. This song basically was unskippable for me the later half of the year with the rapping, the electro beats, the super catchy chorus or the high variety of screams. Also the song's title is an item name in my favorite game of all time helped a lot to keep this one in memory. Start this list with a clean slate.

19. Bad Omens X Poppy - V. A. N.

Violence Against Nature is a really unique song in a sense that even though the Bad Omens are playing the super industrial metalcore instrumentals, the vocals are provided none other than Poppy herself only. Some people would find the monotonous vocals really unsettling and boring, I think they are very charming in a weird way. The machine gun-like drums are just the cherry on top.

18. Nothing More - House on Sand (feat. Eric V of I Prevail)

This was also a song that I got addicted to in the latter half of the year. The guitars are very modern sounding and the verses kinda remind me of a Beastie Boys/RHCP kinda groove, I don't know why. It's a strange mixture that somehow works.

17. Green Day - Suzie Chapstick

Probably my favorite love song from this year that gives me strange warmth, especially 'cause I remember it coming out during wintertime and I always listened to it on the warm bus on the way to work. Very comforting song with a nostalgic hook, I would honestly even call it Whatsername 2.

16. Alpha Wolf - Sucks 2 Suck (feat. Ice-T)

This might be way lower than it should be but hear me out. The song is great, the Ice-T feature is a little questionable but the whole vibe of this "standing up against bullies" type of hardcore song is really speaking to me. I often caught myself listening to it in home office when someone pissed me off.

15. LANDMVRKS - Creature

What's a song that begins with french rapping then turns into a metalcore anthem with a really melodic chorus and great breakdowns? This song. I really can't say anything else about this other than it's a banger.

14. Sum 41 - Waiting On A Twist of Fate

I could have picked any single from Sum 41's last album and it would have fit. I chose this one because of the punk-ish nature, fast drums, screamy vocals just in good Sum 41 fashion. I'm sad that I won't be able to hear this band live again but I'm glad they went out on their own terms (also I kinda relate to that).

13. Boi What - Funeral of an Antihero

If there was a genre called I'm not okay-core, this song would be there along with Lost by BMTH. The similarities are crazy between these songs and the pacing, the melodies and even the vocal style is very similar (though this song has the Plankton AI filter over it). I got called out by my ex-girlfriend for liking literal Spongebobcore but hey, a good song is a good song.

12. Nightwish - The Day Of...

Apparently it's an unpopular take but I loooove this song. The key change in the last chorus with the choir singing and Floor's amazing vocals had me shook since I first heard it. Though I think Yesterwynde was a little underwhelming (the later half, the first half is pretty decent in my opinion), this song is well deservingly here on this list.

11. Billie Eilish - Birds of A Feather

A really chill pop song from a really chill pop album and a really chill pop artist. It's also adorable and dreamy and to be fair just a cute lovesong that gets stuck in your head. I only put this love song ahead of the Green Day one, because even though both singers are called Billie, this one made a more unique sounding song.

10. Bilmuri - TALKIN' 2 YOUR GHOST

I know, unexpectedly low for American Motor Sports being my AOTY, but I got into the Bilmuri hype really late this year. Johnny Frank's metalcore-country hybrid band did a great job with this song despite it being less than 3 minutes long. I can also relate to the meaning behind the lyrics, I just love the whole thing to be honest.

09. Sleep Theory - Stuck In My Head

Sleep Theory is a band that I rarely listen to but when I do, I binge a lot of their songs. They're very nu-metal adjacent modern metal/metalcore band that have a very good artistic direction and good sense of melody. Also in my opinion very underrated, I love their older EP Paper Hearts, as well as this song. And of course this one got stuck in my head all year, pun intended.

08. Spiritbox - Soft Spine

YOU ALL DESERVE EACH OTHER. This callout is probably the hardest of the year for me, the song is pure breakdowns and screams, being very faithful to Spiritbox' sound. I'm really looking forward to their new album. Similar to their song Cellar Door from last year, this one doesn't need any huge melodies or choruses either as long as the heaviness is there.

07. Ice Nine Kills - A Work of Art (feat. SHAVO)

Despite hating horror and gore, INK is one of my favorite bands right now. The melodic sensibilities of Spencer Charnas. musical genius of of the whole band, and the corny horror vibe that does not take itself very seriously always brings me to a good mood. For some reason the band got a lot of hate online for being "boring and cheesy" by most metalcore listeners and reviewers but I honestly cannot give less fucks about it. The breakdown with the clown noise just always makes me smile. A Work of Art is a banger (and the key change at the end is just perfect).

06. Knocked Loose - Suffocate (feat. Poppy)

I kind of lied at the beginning. Poppy is featured in multiple instances on this list, bringing her to my favorite artist for this year. Knocked Loose knocked it out of the park this year with their album, You Won't Go Before You're Supposed To, and even though I wasn't very keen on Bryan's vocals first, the pissed of vibe of the whole band got me through my worst days of this year. Her PR team must do a great job because wherever I looked this year I saw this girl who started out as a creepy internet sensation, making it to Jimmy Kimmel by screaming her lungs out and then releasing one of the biggest albums of 2024. Also the reggaeton breakdown got me jamming even though I absolutely despite the original genre. Great job, KL.

05. Poppy - they're all around us

Yeah... I know. I'm a liar. So the album of this unexpected banger came out on the same day as another anticipated album of mine, yet this song was still on repeat more times than that record as a whole. 2024 was undoubtedly Poppy's year for sure. Oh and about the song, well it's very angry, brutal at times, but still has a Britney chorus, do you want any more information?

04. twenty one pilots - Routines In The Night

A bit of a mood change as we get to my favorite pop song of the year, which is unexpected a little because all the singles from Clancy, the 2024 album of the band were very competitive. Routines In The Night got stuck in my head for days, and while I was trying to figure out why, I noticed that the melodies just like in the Billie Eilish song, were very comforting, but in a different way. It was more like meeting an old friend late at night because neither of you can sleep. Brought me back to the good old days.

03. Electric Callboy X BABYMETAL - RATATATA

Some unhinged commenters said that this collab is similar to WWII, since the germans and the japanese have united and dropped a bomb. While this might be a very dark joke, I think it's absolutely correct. Two of the most fun modern metal bands unite in this beautifully chaotic mess of a metalcore mixed with J-metal, I love this song so much and it always brings me to good mood.

02. Linkin Park - Two Faced

Welp. Linkin Park are back alright. Two Faced brought me back to the first time I listened to Hybrid Theory and Meteora in full. The breakdown, the rap parts, the screams, everything is perfect and I can honestly say I'm always fully immersed in nostalgia when playing this song. Sidenote: this was the only song this year that I always had to listen to twice because one time was never enough.

01. Bring Me The Horizon - n/A

Might be an unlikely pick but n/A was my most relatable song this year. Oli dealing with substance abuse and telling the story of his relapse, how he feels guilt over relapsing made me think of how much I fucked up this year. I could write a bunch of personal stuff here why I chose this as my song of the year but let me just say that the subject matter always hit very close to home, especially describing the intrusiveness of Oli's thoughts. I literally never skipped it, ever.

So these are all my favorite songs this year but of course the list could be even longer than this by at least 10-15 songs.

[nostalgebraist]

Hello I have a question about the bot, hopefully you’re not too tired of those. I’ve heard that machine learning models have a tendency to sometimes just recreate an existing image or post from their training data, which is a problem with a lot of the currently popularized AI art creation tools. Have you ever noticed the bot closely recreating a post from your blog? Sometimes I’ll see a Frank post that’s like a review of a movie or book or an impressively coherent shorter text post that makes me wonder if it just got lifted wholesale from somewhere deep in your blog. Also, when Frank is just generating new content that isn’t in response to an ask, is there any sort of seeding that influences what topics she’s making posts about? Thanks and have a great day!

I’ve heard that machine learning models have a tendency to sometimes just recreate an existing image or post from their training data, which is a problem with a lot of the currently popularized AI art creation tools.

This isn't exactly true.

We should distinguish between

Whether the model can re-create examples from its training data

Whether the model is likely to do this, during normal usage, if you aren't specifically aiming for it

For almost any generative model seeing use in 2023 -- including Frank's language model, stable diffusion, etc. -- the answers are

Yes, it can re-create (some) training examples, if you prompt it in just the right way

No, you're unlikely to see this "by accident" during normal usage

I've never seen Frank re-create a post from the training data, or even come very close to doing this. (At least not for a long time -- I think there might have been some very early, very overfit, not-very-good versions of the model that did this sometimes.)

I've never had this problem with an image-generating model, either ... at least, not to my knowledge. Maybe this is a pain point with some of them and I just don't know about it.

(Lots of people are worried that these models can capably reproduce the styles of specific artists, but that's different. Also, there are just a lot of misconceptions about these models flying around.)

Also, when Frank is just generating new content that isn’t in response to an ask, is there any sort of seeding that influences what topics she’s making posts about?

There are a few small factors, which also apply to asks/etc.:

Frank's mood value

The time of day in my time zone

I'm not sure the time of day really affects anything. It goes into the prompt, and it's present in all of the training data, but I've never seen a clear indication that it's having a real effect on post content.

Also, for original posts, the bot uses tumblr's queue to make them well in advance. That makes it doesn't actually know what the mood value will be at the time of posting. Instead, it uses a simple guess about the future value: namely, what the mood would be if no one sent any asks/etc. between now and then.

And then, some of these posts don't even get posted at the time they were originally "slated" for, because sometimes they get flagged by my automated moderation system and saved to drafts so I can manually review + queue them.

So yeah, it's complicated, and the tl;dr is "nothing really affects those posts much."

EDIT: oh, I forgot -- for original posts, I also randomly choose between a prompt for a normal tumblr post, a prompt for a fiction chapter, and a prompt for a book review.

The training data for the fiction chapters was taken from my fiction, and the training data for the book reviews was taken from my Goodreads reviews.

[ellaeats]

Different anon Cyberpunk has good character customization, both in terms of visual customization and in terms of your builds. Notably, it is a real RPG, opposed to a more theme parky RPG, in that you will make choices which will enable or lock off certain approaches and rewards. This gives a high amount of replayability and makes your choices feel meaningful. My character was a low-intelligence hacker with high stealth, so I invested in cyberware such as a super-jump to circumvent areas and sneak better. I recall memorably subverting about half of a "mall" dungeon by simply leaping to the upper level. And I got an exclusive car by finding a secret B-route to a quest involving a character called Pan-Am. Visually, you have a lot of options but despite the focus on character customization early on I would describe it as merely "In-depth, but ultimately average." You have a lot of options, but cannot truly push your aesthetic in visuals alone. I made my character covered in tattoos, and with heart-pupiled cyber-eyes and blonde hair and then ran around in a catsuit with pumps. But I could not make them have enormous hips, for example. The game is also putting in costumes soon (or maybe they already have) enabling you to look how you want all the time, which is very nice. And the options are in-depth enough that one gameplay session was literally just me running around to each clothing shop to get a good aesthetic. In other words, you will be able to make a character who feels like your own - But, it's also not one of the greatest or most memorable character editors There's also the storyline. In this game, you control a character named V. You have a lot of input on them. You dictate what kind of a person they are. You dictate their approach to things, and even their backstory (Which gives three entire options with their own little plot and call-backs.) But I think the idea that, despite all the customization you have, you are still ultimately a set character in this story and not your own creation may be a bit of a turn-off for some people really into making their RPG protagonists their own. On the other hand, though, lacking that blank slate energy does allow some involvement of the origin you pick in written scenes. It's also worth noting the game is first-person, so you won't see V all that much. They added in a variety of nailpolish options knowing this though, which is honestly very cute. So, overall, I would say the character customization is good if taken as a whole. But it's also not the best I've seen or anything even close to it. You will absolutely be able to make a character your own, if that is your primary concern. But you might not be able to make the perfect cyberpunk OC of your dreams.

This is a pretty good review ngl 👀

I’ve been convinced

[ridiasfangirlings]

Hellooo i need it for a critique review but do you know where to find where someone compared the wuotes about power of the 7 kings? I remember you commenting on it so i though you might know 😅

I looked around but couldn’t find a post about it, though I feel like I made one at some point (Tumblr’s search function isn’t great so that doesn’t help). In the interests of assistance I figured I’d do a quick King comparison, in number order:

1.Silver King, “the eternal king.” 

-Powers are immortality and flight (…come to think, why flight? Is it just that Kings are naturally drawn to jump off stuff and the Slate thought hey better let the first King fly so he doesn’t die the first time he jumps off a building?). 

-Combat power though seems low, at least from what we see with Shiro. He does a lot of talk no jutsu and we get that bit of umbrella-fu during the Mihashira attack but most of the actual combat seems to be left to Kuroh, which makes me think he doesn’t have a lot of physical strength beyond ‘can’t die.’

-Jumping Off High Things score: 7/10. Being able to fly is a bit of a cheat. Can jump off very high things like airships and even change clothes in mid-air but takes a little too long to land. Also landing by dive bombing face down just isn’t as cool as landing on your feet.

2. Gold King, “the King of prosperity.”

-His powers are stated as something along the lines of ‘the ability to bring out a person’s full potential,’ so basically he can maximize everyone’s talents but at the same time can’t make them stronger than whatever their maximum potential is (Mizuchi is specifically bummed about this in Side Red as I recall, that ‘this’ is as far as he can go). He can also give the power to erase memories and he can throw planets at people. Why? Because fuck you that’s why.

-Combat power is the highest of the seven Kings, even though he’s an old guy he’s built like a brick house. No one can defeat him in combat, which is why Hisui had to wait for him to conveniently die.

-Jumping Off High Things score: 2/10. He never really jumps off anything high, even though he has this huge tower. Maybe he doesn’t like jumping off high things? Disappointing for a man called the strongest King.

3. Red King, “the King of chaos.”

-Powers include burning things, frying things to a crisp, leaving no blood no bone no ash, letting his Sword of Damocles fall and taking power naps.

-For Mikoto specifically, his power is probably about even with Munakata’s. We know he was a strong fighter even before becoming King, but at the same time he has to hold back his powers so they don’t overwhelm him and cause him to destroy everything which is a fairly substantial weakness. 

-Jumping Off High Things score: 7/10. He can jump off balconies and ferris wheels with ease but doesn’t seem to really have the spirit for jumping out of planes. Maybe he just never got the chance. Points for a strong landing though, and the ability to fight Munakata in mid-air just because it Looks Cool.

4. The Blue King, “the King of order.”

-His powers allow him to create blue shields and to enhance his own weapon with blue power. He can also do things like make sandcastles permanent or draw out blueprints in the sky. Also has the power of shiny glasses, but that’s just a Munakata thing, not a King thing. 

-Like I said above, Munakata and Mikoto seem to be about equal in power. Presumably Munakata’s power is more defensive-based and Mikoto’s more offensive — since we do see Munakata use the shields against non-King combatants fairly often — but when they fight each other it’s largely offense and they’re evenly matched. Mikoto is probably a stronger physical fighter but Munakata is more tactical and their strengths cancel each other out.

-Jumping Off High Things score: 10/10. Who can jump off of high things better than Munakata? He leaps out of helicopters with ease, landing dramatically in just the right spot. Truly a master of getting himself onto high things and just waiting for his chance to jump off for no reason other than he can.

5. The Green King, “the King of Change.”

-Powers are lightning and electricity based (and also the internet, for some reason). Hisui generally has to be all wrapped up like a burrito to keep his powers in check but when he lets loose he gets a whole magical girl transformation.

-Combat wise Hisui is second only to Kokujouji when using full power. He’s the only member of the living cast to directly challenge Kokujouji, though he does get defeated. In LSW he seems perfectly willing to fight Munakata for Fushimi’s hand in marriage and stops only because he becomes aware that Mikoto is also present, presumably if he’d only been facing Munakata he would have gone for it.

-Jumping Off High Things score: 4/10. On the one hand he can’t jump at all while in a wheelchair, though he does escape Mihashira somehow (I choose to believe via a tiny propeller that sprouts from his wheelchair). He could also presumably jump off lots of high things once his power is released but it’s more of a hypothetical jumping off of high things, we don’t get to see enough to really judge his abilities.

6. The Gray King, “absolute defense.“

-It’s in his title, pretty much (why doesn’t he get a fancy title?). Can create a gray mist that protects him from things and obscures his opponent’s vision.

-Iwafune’s combat abilities seem to be pretty high, especially for an old guy. He goes toe to toe with Munakata twice, wins the first time and nearly wins the second time until Munakata gets a Power of Friendship power up. From what we see Iwafune prefers to use his King powers to throw his opponent off balance and protect himself while using his gun to attack. I assume only he can see through his own mist, so his aim isn’t obscured at all, and being an older King with a stable Sword is a benefit too.

-Jumping Off High Things score: 0/10. He’s an old drunk man, why do you want him to jump off high things? Let the man have a beer and a nap.

7. The Colorless King, “the joker”

-Power is whatever the fuck Gora wants it to be. Ichigen saw the future, Fox Mask Colorless bodynapped people. The Colorless King is considered a wild card among the Kings for this reason. 

-Combat abilities vary. We know Ichigen was strong but presumably a lot of that was just because of his own swordsmanship skills rather than his King power. Fox Mask didn’t seem to have terribly high combat abilities on his own, since he mostly relies on surprise in order to stab and run away. If Mikoto had actually confronted him while not caring about what body Colorless is in Colorless probably would have gotten punched to death easily. 

-Jumping Off High Things score: ??/10. Ichigen can balance on his cane but we don’t get to see him do much other jumping, he flies helicopters he doesn’t leap out of them (it would be a bad example for his kids). Fox Mask gets thrown off high things a couple times but he jumps bodies when it happens so he’s disqualified, if you’re going to jump off high things you gotta commit to it.